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" TJie Story of our Lives from Tear to Year" SHAKESPEARE. 






Including No. 77 to No. 100. 





, T.-!^. 



A DAY'S Ride: a Life's Romance. 
By Charles Lever . 1 

25, 49, 73, 97, 121, 145, 180, 205 
228, 254, 278, 808. 332, 356, 380 
404, 429, 450, 474, 501, 524, 547, 567 
Arinoourt, Henry's Spoous at . 380 
A i bulimic- Silk . . . 223,423 
Alt nd do Vigny's Publisher . 12 
Alligators in America . . 449 
Ancient Costumes . . . 125 
Ancii nt World, Relics of . . 366 
Angelique Tiquet . . 84 
America, Charleston City . 462 
America, Marriage in . . . 15S 
Ami-nca, The Cotton Country . 31S 
America, The Mammoth Cave . 343 
America, South Carolina . . 438 
American Railway Cars . . 328 
American Sleeping Cars . . 328 
American Snake Stories . . 374 
American Steam-boats . . 399 
American Volunteer Firemen . 537 
Army Purchase System . . 67 
Army, Treatment of the Men . 488 
Aryan Race, A Legend of tho . 211 
Ashley and Cooper Rivers . . 463 
Atlantic, Soundings in tho . 205 
Australia, On Spec iu . . . 491 

BABEI8TBE8' Wigs . 28G 

Bears, Stories of . . . . 390 
Beautiful Devil, A ... 84 
Before Capua . . . 105 

Bengal Cotton . . . .470 
Bill-Sticking in Rome . . . 58 
Bishop of Columbia . . . 470 
Black Weather from the South 269 
Booking Clerk at Railways . 369 
Bouquet from the Baltic . SO 

Boxing-Day 258 

Briefless Barristers . . .286 
British Columbia . . . 470 

Building Stone . . . .149 

CAPITAL of Italy, The . . 46 
Capua, Siege of . . . 101, 198 

Cardinal Secretary of State, A 20 

Cardinal Wiseman at Rome . 41 

Carolina 438 

Carolina Rice-Fields . . . 440 
Castor Oil Silkworms . 234, 423 

Charleston City . . . . 462 

ChMMun d'Amquo . . . 511 

Chateaubriand's Publisher . . 12 

flu-mist Shops .... 70 

.' r do la Morliere . . 168 
China, Flaws in . . . .414 

China, The Man for . . . 221 
Chinamen Afloat . . .116 

Chinamen's Dinners . . . 355 

Chinese Cookery . . . 355 

Chinese Rebel Chief, The . . 414 

flum-so War Junks . . 120 

fimu-s<> Water Thieves . . 118 

Christ mas Boxes . . . 258 

Christ mas- Kvc in College . . 342 

Christmas Table d'Hote . . 420 

City Gates, The . . . . 55 
City of Flowers, and Flower of 

Cities 45 

Clergymen, The Ill-paid . . 177 

I'oM Weather . . . . 3ih5 

Columbia, The Bishop of . . 470 

Commissions in tho Army . 67 

Concerning Dining 
Congress of Pedlars . 
Cornish Mine, A . 
Cotton Country . 
Cotton I'roin India 
Cousin Jacques 
Crab, The Life of a 
Curfew Bell, Tho 

Despised and Forgotten 
Dining .... 
Dinner Parties . 
Dorak, The Poet . . 
Drainage of London . 
Dress, A History of 


, 449 

, 1'Jl 

, 470 

, 167 

. 297 

. 55 

. 534 

, 164 

. 400 

. 466 

. 104 

, 30 

. 125 

Dress and Food of Old Lon- 
doners 185 

Drift 106,380 

Duels, The Poet ... 17 

EARLIEST Man . . . . 366 
Edibles of our Ancestors . . 56 
England Painted by a French- 
man 142 

English Battalion in Italy . 2UO 

Englishman in Bengal . . . 4C8 

Episcopacy in the Rough . 470 

Esthoniau Legends . . . 81 
Everett's, Mr., Mount Vernou 

Papers 138 

FAMILY at Fcnhouse, The . . 260 

Fashions 125 

Fish in the Sea . . . 294 
Five Hundred Years Ago, 

Houses and Modes of Living 53 

, Dress and Food . . 185 

Flaws in China . . . . 414 

Fleet Ditcli at King's Cross . 372 

Florence, The City of . . . 46 

Furls i>! 1'liarlestou . . . 462 

Fossil lU-niains . ... 366 

Foundling Hospitals in Russia 134 

Fountain in the Village . . 115 

Four Vatican Pictures . . . Ill 

Freebooters at Agincourt . 380 

French in Lebanon, The . . 510 

French in Rome, The . . 223 

French Law of Marriage . . 156 
French Looking-glass for Eng- 

Imid 142 

Frosts 396 

Frozen-out Poor Law . . 416 

GAOL in Italy, A ... 14 

Garibaldi in tlie Field . . . 105 

Gauls in Rome .... 223 

German Pedlars' Congress . . 44'J 

Going to the Front . . . 101 

Gold Diggers, Ou Spec . . 491 
Great Expectations. By 
Charles Dickens . . .169 
I'.i;!, HIT. -JU. iv:-, J--9, 313, 337, 31 

385, 409, 433, 457, 4M. 505, 529, 653 

Great Sower .... 9 

Greek Language, The . . . o 
Grey Woman, The . 300,321,347 

Guano Islands . . . . 296 

Gulf Stream, The . . . 497 

HAMLET, The French Version 

of 18 

Happy and Unhappy Couples . 130 


Hard Frosts . . . 396 
Health, A Registration of 
Henry tho Fifth's Spoous at 

Agincourt ..... 380 

Herrings ..... 297 

Hill's, Dr., Bishop of Columbia 471 

Historical Frosts . . . . 396 
Houses Five Hundred Years 

Ago ...... 63 

Mullah's, Mr.. Classes . . . 306 

Human Fossils .... 366> 

Hunting the Stag in Germany 213 

Hythe, Volunteers at . . . 402. 

ICE, Fairs upon tho . . . 
In Gaol in Italy . . . . 
In Praise of Bears . . 

Inconveniences of being a Cor- 

nish Man ..... 
India, Cotton from . . . 
India, Englishmen in . . . 
Irish Judges at a Bishop's 

Dinner ..... 
Italian Plum-pudding . . 
Italian Political Prisoner . . 
Italian Sketches of the War, 

Going to the Front . . . 
- , Waiting for Capua . . 
Italy, The Capital for . . . 







JAMAICA Revivals . . . 521 

Jelly Fish ..... 298 

Jewellers' Shops . . . . 70 

KINO Henry the Fifth's Spoons 380 

King of Yvetot, The 

King's College Evening Classes 44 

LADTOCAT, The Publisher 
Lady Seamer's Escape . . . 

Land and Water . . . 494 

Learned Friends . . . . 286 

Lebanon, The French in . . 510 

Legend of the Aryan Race . . L 1 1 

London Drainage ... 30 
London, Five Hundred Years 

Ago ..... 63,35 

London Mysteries ... 69 

MAGIC and Science . . . 561 

Mammoth, The . . . . 367 

Mammoth Cave, The . . . 34$ 

Man for China, The . . . 221 

Managers and. Music-Halls . . 568 

Marine Animals . . . 898 

Mastodon, The ... 367 

Matrimony ..... 156 

Merit iu Money . . . . 67 
Metropolitan Underground 

Railway ..... 878 

Michel deCubieres . . . 164 

.Mississippi Steamer, A . . 399 

Moon, The ..... 845 

More about Silkworms . . 423 

Mount Vernon Papers . . . 138 

Mr. Hullah's Classes. . . 306 

Mr. Singleman on Dining . . 466 

Mr. Singleuiau onTea . . 442 

Much Better than Shakespeare 17 

Music-Halls ..... 668 

.My Learned Friends. . . SW6 

Mysteries of Paris aud London on 


K*vy, Treatment of the Men 






New Capital of Italy . . 45 
New Chamber of Horrors . . 500 

OLD London .... 53,185 

Olympe de Gouges . . . 165 

On Spec 491 

On the Parish .... 278 

Opera at Eoine . ... 129 

Opium Trade in China . . 119 

Our Roman Day . . . . 152 

Our Roman Inn ... 76 

Oxford, Christmas-Eve at . . 342 

Oysters 541 

PALAZZO di Venezia ... 39 

Paris, Jewellers' Shops in . . 72 

Paris Mysteries ... ^ 69 

Parish Business . . . 273 
Parliament Houses, Stone of 

the 150 

Parochial Mind . . . . 273 

Passports in Prussia . 319 

Pay for your Places ... 67 

Pedlars' Congress . . . . 449 

Penguins ... . 295 

Perfumers' Shops . . . . 70 

Phrenology at Fault ... 76 

Physical Geography of the Sea . 493 

Pierre Dupont .... 31 

Pine Woods of America . . 441 

Planted by Nature ... 9 

Plum-pudding in Italy . . . 176 
Poets at Fault . . . .534 

Poison by Post . . . . 374 

Policemen in. Prussia . . 318 

Poor Clergy 177 

Poor, Homes of the . . .161 

Poor Law Chamber of Horrors . 500 

Poor Law Doctors . . . . 210 

Poor Law System, The . . 446 

Poor, Relief of the . . . 446 

Pope's Guard . ... 60 

Praise of Bears . . . . 390 
Pre-Adamite . . . .366 

Paint Shops 71 

Proscribed Poetry ... 31 

Public Reception . . . . 237 

Publisher, at the Palais Royal . 11 

RAIL-WAT Central Station, The 371 

Railway Frauds .... 370 

Railway Points . . . . 369 

Railway, The Underground . 372 

Railway Sleeping Cars . . . 328 

Railway Ticket Clerk, The . 369 

Railway Traveller Story, A . . 237 

Railway Travelling in America 328 

Rattlesnake Story . ... 375 
Real Mysteries of Paris and 

London 09 

Rebel Chief of China . , 
Registration of Sickness . 
Relief of the Poor . . . 
Rice-Fields in America . 
Richard the Third . . 
Roman Cardinal Secretary, A 
Roman Cardinals . . . 
Roman Cook's Oracle . 
Roman Day 
Roman Inn 

Roman Reception, A . . 
Roman Soldier ... 
Rome, Arriving iu . . . 
Rome, Bill-Sticking in . 
Rome, four Vatican Pictures 
Rome in Five Days . . 
Rome, The City of . . . 
Rome, The French in . 
Rome, The Opera in . 

Russian Foundling Hospitals 


. 414 

. 227 

. 416 

. 440 

. 106 

. 20 

. 41 

. 174 

. 39 

. 58 

. 76 

. 58 

. Ill 

. 223 

. 45 

. 223 

. 129 

. 134 

SALIC Law of Dining . . . 467 
Sanitary Science ... 29 
Scene in the Cotton Country . 398 
Scenery of South Carolina . 438 
Schoolmasters iu China . . 415 
Science and Magic . . . 561 
Sea and Land . . . 205, 493 
Sea Anemones ..... 298 

Sea Chart, A . . . .496 

Sea Fish .... 294, 498 

Sea Reptiles ..... 298 

Sea, Soundings of the 205, 493 

Seals ...... 295 

Seeds, Carried by the Wind . 9 
Sense of Duty, A . . . . Ill 

Severe Winters . . . ' . 390 
Shakespeare, Edited by Ducis . 17 
Shell Fish ..... 297 

Sickness, A Registration of . 227 
Silk for the Multitude . . 283,423 
Silkworms .... 233, 423 

Singleman (Mr.) on Dining. . 465 
Singleman (Mr.) on Tea . . 442 
Slave Labour in America . . 441 
Sleeping Cars in America . . 328 
Snake Stories . . . . 374 

Snakes in America . . . 374 
Snow, Buried in . 61, 90 

Soldiers and Sailors . . . 486 
Some Railway Points . . . 369 
Soundings of the Sea . 205,493 
South Carolina . . . . 438 

Stag-Hunting in Germany . 213 
Starving Clergy . . . 177 

Steam-boats in America . . 399 
Sticking to the Bottle . . . 16 
Stomach for Study . . .42 
Stone for Building . . . 149 
Syria, The French in. . . . 510 


TABLE d'H6te .... 420 

Tea-Drinking .... 443 

Thames frozen over . . . 395 

Theatres and Music-Halls . 558 

Thoroughly English . . . 108 

Tour in the Mammoth Cave . 343 

Two Cardinals . . . . 41 

The : Story about the Italian 
Prisoner ..... 13 
Uncle's Salvage . . . .36 
Under the Sea , ... 493 
Under the Snow. . . . 61, 90 
Underground Railway . . . 372 
Unique Publishing ... 11 
United State in America, The . 156 
Up a Step-Ladder . . .161 

VANCOUVER'S Island . . . 471 
Victor Hugo's Publisher . . 12 
Volunteers at Hythe . . . 402 

WAITING for Capua . 


Water Everywhere . . . 202. 
Waves ..... 294,494 
Whales ..... 295,493 
When Greek meets Greek . . 6 
Wind, and Current Charts . 493 
Winter Weather . . . 396 

Wiseman, Cardinal, at Rome . 41 
Wolf at the Church Door . . 177 
Wonders of the Sea . . . 294 

YORKISH Tragedy, A . . 108 
Yvetot, The King of . . . 5CG 

ZOUAVES, The . ... 512 


CHANGES ..... 373 

Flight, The ..... 419 

Forest Voices . . . .299 

Forgiven ...... 251 

Guesses ..... 492 

Longings ...... 133 

Manse, The ..... 108 

My Will ...... 11 

Northern Lights . . .395 
Poor Margaret . ... 

Rejoice ...... 228 

Sacred City ..... 445 

Statues, The . . .541 
Snow ...... 276 

Transplanted .... 155 

Watcher, The ..... 320 

World of Love . . . 10S 

The Extra Christmas Number, " A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA." will be found at the End of the Volume, 
containing PAGE 

CHAPTER I. The Village 
II. The Money 


The Restitution 

CHAPTER III. The Club Night . 
IV. The Seafaring Man 


page 41 









I TAKE it for granted that all special 
"charities" have had their origin in some spe- 
cific suffering. At least I can aver that my first 
thought on landing at Ostend was, Why has 
no great philanthropist thought of establishing 
such an institution as a Refuge for the Sea-sick? 
I declare this publicly, that if I ever become 
rich a consummation which, looking to the 
general gentleness of my instincts, the wide be- 
nevolence of my nature, and the kindliness of 
my temperament, mankind might well rejoice at 
if, I repeat, I ever become rich, one of the first 
uses of my affluence will be to endow such an 
establishment. I will place it in some one of 
our popular ports, say Southampton. Surrounded 
with all the charms of inland scenery, rich in 
every rustic association, the patient shall never 
be reminded of the scene of his late sufferings. 
A velvety -turf to stroll on, with a leafy shade 
above his head, the mellow lowing of cattle in 
his ears, and the fragrant odours of meadow- 
sweet and hawthorn around, I would recal 
the sufferer from the dread memories of the 
slippery deck, the sea-washed stairs, or the 
sleepy state-room. For the rattle of cordage 
and the hoarse trumpet of the skipper, I would 
substitute the song of the thrush or the black- 
bird ; and, instead of the thrice odious steward 
and his basin, I would have trim maidens of 
pleasing aspect to serve him with syllabubs. I 
will not go on to say the hundred devices I 
would employ to cheat memory out of a gloomy 
record, for I treasure the hope that I may yet 
live to carry out my theory and have a copyright 
in my invention. 

It was with sentiments deeply tinctured by 
the above that I tottered, rather than walked, 
towards the Hotel Royal. It was a bright 
moonlight night, and, as if in mockery of the 
weather outside, as still and calm as might be. 
Many a picturesque effect of light and shade met 
me as I went : quaint old gables flaring in a strong 
flood of moonlight showed outlines the strangest 
and oddest ; twinkling lamps shone out of tall, 
dark-sided old houses, from which strains oi 
music came plaintively enough in the night air ; 
the sounds of a prolonged revel rose loudly oui 
of that deep-pillared chateau-like building in tin 
Place, and in the quiet alley adjoining I couk 


;atch the low song of a mother as she tried to 
sing her baby to sleep. It was all human in 
every touch and strain of it. And did I not 
drink it in with rapture ? Was it not in a trans- 
port of gratitude that I thanked Fortune for 
mce again restoring me to land ? "0 Earth, 
Earth !" says the Greek poet, " how art thou in- 
;erwoven with that nature that first came from 
thee !" Thus musing, I reached the inn, where, 
although the hour was a late one, the household 
was all active and astir. 

" Many passengers arrived, waiter ?" said I, 
in the easy, careless voice of one who would not 
own to sea-sickness. 

"Very few, sir; the severe weather has de- 
terred several from venturing across." 

" Anv ladies ?" 

" Only one, sir ; and, poor thing, she seems to 
have suffered fearfully. She had to be carried 
from the boat, and when she tried to walk up- 
stairs, she almost fainted. There might have 
been some agitation, however, in that, for she 
expected some one to have met her here ; and 
when she heard that he had not arrived, she was 
completely overcome." 

"very sad, indeed," said I, examining the 
carte for supper. 

" Oh yes, sir ; and being in deep mourning, 
too, and a stranger away for the first time from 
her country." 

I startea, and felt my heart bounding against 
my side. 

" What was it you s.aid about deep mourning, 
and being young and beautiful ?' asked I, 

" Only the mourning, sir it was only the 
mourning I mentioned ; for she kept her veil 
close down, and would not suffer her face to be 

"Bashful as beautiful! modest as she is 
fair !" muttered I. " Do you happen to know 
whither she is going ?" 

" Yes, sir ; her luggage is marked 'Brussels.' " 

" It is she! It is herself!" cried I, in rap- 
ture, as I turned away, lest the fellow should 
notice my emotion. "When does she leave 
this ?" 

" She seems doubtful, sir; she told the laud- 
lady that she is going to reside at Brussels; 
but never having been abroad before, she is 
naturally timid about travelling even so far 

" Gentle creature, why should she be exposed 


2 [October 13.1860.] 


[Conducted by 

to such hazards ? Bring me some of this frican- 
deau with chicory, waiter, and a pint of 
Beaune ; fried potatoes, too. Would that I 
could tell her to fear nothing," thought I. 
"Would that I could just whisper, 'Potts is 
here ; Potts watches over you ; Potts will be 
that friend, that brother, that should have come 
to meet you ! Sleep soundly, and with a head 
at ease. You are neither friendless nor for- 
saken !' " I feel I must be naturally a creature 
of benevolent instincts ; for I am never so truly 
happy as when engaged in a work of kindness. 
Let me but suggest to myself a labour of charity, 
some occasion to sorrow with the afflicted, to 
rally the weak-hearted and to succour the 
wretched, and I am infinitely more delighted 
than by all the blandishments of what is called 
"society." Men have their allotted parts in 
life, just as certain fruits are meet for certain 
climaies. Mine was the grand comforting line. 
Nature meant me for a consoler. 1 have none of 
those impulsive temperaments which make what 
are called jolly fellows. I have no taste for those 
excesses which go by the name of conviviality. 
I can, it is true, be witty, anecdotic, and agree- 
able; I can spice conversation with epigram, 
and illustrate argument by apt example; but 
my forte is tenderness. 

" Is not this veal a little tough, waiter ?" said 
I, in gentle remonstrance. 

" Monsieur is right," said he, bowing ; " but 
if a morsel of cold pheasant would be acceptable 
mademoiselle, the lady in mourning, has just 
taken a wing of it " 

" Bring it directly. Oh, ecstasy of ecstasies ! 
We are then, as it were, supping together 
served from the same dish! May I have the 
honour P" said 1, filling out a glass of wine and 
bowing respectfully and with an air of deep de- 
votion across the table. The pheasant was ex- 
quisite, and I ate with an epicurean enjoyment. 
1 called for another pint of Beaune, too. It 
was an occasion for some indulgence, and I 
could not deny myself. No sooner had the 
waiter left me alone, than I burst into an ex- 
pansive acknowledgment of my happiness, "Yes, 
Potts," said I, "you are richer in that tem- 
perament of yours than if you owned half Cali- 
fornia. That boundless wealth of good inten- 
tions is a well no pumping can exhaust. Go on 
doing imaginary good for ever. You are never 
the poorer for all the orphans you support, all 
the distresses you relieve. You rescue the 
mariner from shipwreck without wetting your 
feet. You charge at the head of a squadron 
without the peril of a scratch. All blessed be 
the gift which can do these things !" 

You call these delusions ; but is it a delusion 
to be a king, to deliver a people from slavery, 
to carry succour to a drowning crew? I have done 
all of these ; that is, I have gone through every 
changeful mood of hope and fear that accom- 
panies these actions, sipping my glass of Beaune 
between whiles. 

When I found myself in my bedroom T had no 
inclination for sleep ; I was m a mood of enjoy- 
ment too elevated for mere repose. It was so 

delightful to be no longer at sea, to feel rescued 
from the miseries of the rocking ship and the 
reeking cabin, that I would not lose the rapture 
by forgetfulness. I was in the mood for great 
things, too, if 1 only knew what they were to be. 
"Ah!" thought I, suddenly, "I will write to 
her. She shall know that she is not the friend- 
less and forsaken creature that she deems her- 
self; she shall hear that, though separated from 
home, friends, and country, there is one near to 
watch over and protect her, and that Potts de- 
votes himself to her service." I opened my 
desk, and in all the impatience of my ardour 
began : 

" ' DEAR MADAM' Quaere : Ought I to say 

' dear'? We are not acquainted, and can I pre- 
sume upon the formula that implies acquaint- 
anceship ? No. I must omit ' dear ;' and then 
' Madam' looks fearfully stern and rigid, par- 
ticularly when addressed to a young unmarried 
lady ; she is certainly not ' Madam' yet, surely. 
I can't begin ' Miss.' What a language is ours ! 
How cruelly fatal to all the tenderer emotions 
is a dialect so matter-of-fact and formal. If I 
could only start with ' Gentilissima Signora,' how 
I could get on ! What an impulse would the 
words lend me ! What ' way on me' would they 
impart for what was to follow ! In our cast- 
metal tongue there is nothing for it but the 
third person : ' The undersigned has the honour,' 
&c. &c. This is chilling it is positively re- 
pulsive. Let me see, will this do ? 

" ' The gentleman who was fortunate enough 
to render you some trivial service at the Mil- 
ford station two days ago, having accidentally 
learned that you are here and unprovided with a 
protector, in all humility offers himself to afford 
you every aid and counsel in his power. No 
stranger to the touching interests of your life, 
deeply sensible of the delicacy that should sur- 
round your steps, if you deign to accept his de- 
voted services, he will endeavour to prove 
himself, by every sentiment of respect, your 
most faithful, most humble, and most grateful 

" ' P.S. His name is Potts.' 

" Yes, all will do but the confounded post- 
script. What a terrible bathos ' His name is 
Potts!' What if I say: 'One line of reply is 
requested, addressed to Algernon Sydney Pot- 
tinger, at this hotel ' ?" 

I made a great many copies of this document, 
always changing something as I went. I felt 
the importance of every word, and fastidiously 
pondered over each expression I employed. The 
bright sun of morning broke in at last upon my 
labours and found me still at my desk, still com- 
posing. All done, I lay down and slept soundly. 

" Is she gone, waiter ?" said I, as he entered 
my room with hot water. " Is she gone ?" 

"Who, sir?" asked he, in some astonish- 

" The lady in black, who came over in the last 
mail packet from Dover ; the young lady in deep 
mourning, who arrived all alone." 

" No, sir. She has sent all round the hotels 
this morning to inquire after some one who was 

Chirlo. Dlckttw .1 


[October 13, ISfiO.} 3 

to have met her here, but apparently without 

" Give her this ; place it in her own hand, 
and, as you are leaving the room, say, in a gentle 
voice : ' Is there an answer, mademoiselle ? You 
understand P" 

" Well, I believe I do," said he, significantly, 
as he slyly pocketed the half-Napoleon fee I had 
tendered for his acceptance. 

Now the fellow had thrown into his counte- 
nance a painfully astute and cunning face it was 
one of tnose expressive looks which actually 
made me shudder. It seemed to say, " This is 
a conspiracy, and we are both in it." 

" You are not for a moment to suppose," said 
I, hurriedly, " that there is one syllable in that 
letter whicli could compromise me, or wound the 
delicacy of the most susceptible." 

" I am convinced that monsieur has written it 
with most consummate skill," said he, with a 
supercilious grin, and left the room. 

How I detest the familiarity of a foreign 
waiter ! The fellows cannot respond to the most 
ordinary question without an affectation of show- 
ing off their immense acuteness and knowledge 
of life. It is their eternal boast how they read 
people, and with what an instinctive subtlety 
they can decipher all the various characters and 
temperaments that pass before them. Now this 
impertinent lacquey, who is to say what has he 
not imputed to me ? Utterly incapable as such a 
creature must necessarily Be of the higher and 
nobler motives that sway men of my order, he 
will doubtless have ascribed to me the most base 
and degenerate motives. 

I was wrong in speaking one word to the 
fellow. I might have said, " Take that note to 
Number Fourteen, and ask if there be an an- 
swer ;" or better still if I had never written at 
all, but merely sent in my card to ask if the 
lady would vouchsafe to accord me an audience 
of a few minutes. Yes, such would have been 
the discreet course ; and then I might have 
trusted to my manner, my tact, and a certain 
something in my general bearing, to have 
brought me matter to a successful issue. While 
I thus meditated, the waiter re-entered the room, 
and, cautiously closing the door, approached me 
witli an ostentatious pretence of secrecy and 

" I have given her the letter," said he, in a 

" Speak up !" said I, severely ; " what answer 
has the lady given ?" 

" I think you'll get the answer presently," 
said he, with a sort of grin that actually thrified 
through me. 

" You may leave the room," said I, with dig- 
nity, for I saw how the fellow was actually 
revelling in the enjoyment of my confusion. 

" They were reading it over together for the 
third time when I came away," said he, with a 
most peculiar look. 

" Whom, do you mean? who are they that you 
speak of?" 

" The gentleman that she was expecting. He 
came by the 9.40 train from Brussels. Just in 

time for your note." As the wretch uttered 
these words, a violent ringing of bells resounded 
along the corridor, and he rushed out without 
waiting for more. 

I turned in haste to my note-book ; various 
copies of my letter were there, and I was eager 
to recal the expressions I had employed in 
addressing her. Good Heavens ! what had I 
really written? Here were scraps of all sorts of 
absurdity; poetry too ! verses to the " Fair Vic- 
tim of a recent War," with a number of rhymes 
for the last word, such as " low," " snow," 
" mow," &c. all evidences of composition under 

While I turned over these rough copies the 
door opened, and a large, red-faced, stern- 
looking man, in a suit of red-brown tweed and 
with a heavy stick in his hand, entered ; he 
closed the door leisurely after him, and I half 
thought that I saw him also turn the key in the 
lock. He advanced towards me with a deliberate 
step, and, in a voice measured as his gait, said, 

"I am Mr. Jopplyn, sir I am Mr. Christo- 
pher Jopplyn." 

" I am charmed to hear it, sir," said I, in some 
confusion, for, without the vaguest conception of 
wherefore, I suspected lowering weather ahead. 

" May I offer you a chair, Mr. Jopplyn ? Won't 
you be seated ? We are going to have a lovely 
day, I fancy a great change after yesterday." 

" Your name, sir," said he, in the same solem- 
nity as before " your name I apprehend to be 
Porringer ?" 

" Pottinger, if you permit me ; Pottinger, not 

" It shall be as you say, sir : I am indifferent 
what you call yourself." He heaved something 
that sounded like a hoarse sigh, and proceeded : 
" I have come to settle a small account that 
stands between us. Is that document your 
writing?" As he said this, he drew, rather theatri- 
cally, from his breast-pocket the letter I had 
just written, and extended it towards me. " I 
ask, sir and I mean you to understand that I 
will suffer no prevarication is that document 
in your writing ?" 

I trembled all over as I took it, and for an 
instant I determined to disavow it ; but in the 
same brief space I bethought me that my denial 
would be in vain. I then tried to look boldly, 
and brazen it out ; I fancied to laugh it off as a 
mere pleasantry, and, failing in courage for each 
of these, I essayed, as a last resource, the argu- 
mentative and discussional line, and said, 

" If you will favour me with an indulgent 
hearing for a few minutes, Mr. Jopplyn, I trust 
to explain, to your complete satisfaction, the cir- 
cumstances of that epistle." 

" Take five, sir live," said he, laying a pon- 
derous silver watch on the table as lie spoke, and 
point ing to the minute hand. 

" lleallv, sir," said I, stung by the peremp- 
tory and dictatorial tone he assumed, " I have 
yet to learn that intercourse between gentlemen 
is to be regulated by clockwork, not to say that 
1 have to inquire by what right you ask me for 
t liis explanation." 



[Conducted by 

" One minute gone," said he, solemnly. 

" I don't care if there were fifty," said I, 
passionately. " I disclaim all pretension of a 
perfect stranger to obtrude himself upon me, 
and by the mere assumption of a pompous man- 
ner and an imposing air, to inquire into my 
private affairs." 

" There are two !" said he, with the same 

" Who is Mr. Jopplyn what is he to me ?" 
cried I, in increased excitement, " that he pre- 
sents himself in my apartment like a commissary 
of police ? Do you imagine, sir, because I am 
a young man, that this this impertinence" 
Lord what a gulp it cost me " is to pass 
unpunished ? Do you fancy that a red beard and 
a heavy walking-cane are to strike terror into 
me ? You may think, perhaps, that I am un- 
armed " 

" Three !" said he, with a bang of his stick 
on the floor, that made me actually jump with 
the stick. 

" Leave the room, sir," said I. " It is my 
pleasure to be alone the apartment is mine I 
am the proprietor here. A very little sense of 
delicacy, a very small amount of good breeding, 
might show you, that when a gentleman declines 
to receive company, when he shows himself in- 
disposed to the society of strangers " 

" One minute more, now," said he, in a low 
growl, while he proceeded to button up his coat 
to the neck, and make preparation for some 
coming event. 

My heart was in my mouth ; I gave a glance 
at the window ; it was the third story, and 
a leap out would have been fatal. What 
would I not have given for one of those 
weapons I had so proudly proclaimed myself 
possessed. There was not even a poker in the 
room. I made a spring at the bell-rope, and 
before he could interpose, gave one pull that, 
though it brought down the cord, resounded 
through the whole house. 

" Time is up, Porringer," said he, slowly, as 
he replaced the watch in his pocket, and grasped 
his murderous-looking cane. 

There was a large table in the room, and I 
entrenched myself at once behind this, armed 
with a light caue chair, while I screamed murder 
in every language I could command. Failing to 
reach me across the table, my assailant tried to 
dodge me by false starts, now at this side, now 
at that. Though a large fleshy man, lie was not 
inactive, and it required all my quickness to 
escape him. These manoeuvres being unsuccess- 
ful, he very quickly placed a chair beside the 
table and mounted upon it. I now hurled my 
chair at him ; he warded off the blow and rushed 
on ; with one spring I bounded under the table, 
reappearing at the opposite side just as he had 
reached mine. This tactic we now pursued for 
several minutes, when my enemy suddenly 
changed his attack, and descending from the 
table he turned it on edge : the effort required 
strength. I seized the moment and reached the 
door; I tore it open in some fashion, gained 
the stairs the court the streets and ran ever 

onward with the wildness of one possessed with 
no_ time for thought, nor any knowledge to 
guide ; I turned left and right, choosing only 
the narrowest lanes that presented themselves, 
and at last came to a dead halt at an open draw- 
bridge, where a crowd stood waiting to pass. 

"How is this? What's all the hurry for? 
Where are you running this fashion ?" cried a 
well-known voice. I turned, and saw the skipper 
of the packet. 

"Are you armed? Can you defend me?" 
cried I, in terror ; " or shall I leap in and swim 
for it ?" 

" I'll stand by you. Don't be afraid, man," 
said he, drawing my arm within his ; " no one 
shall harm you. Were they robbers ?" 

" No, worse assassins !" said I, gulping, for 
I was heartily ashamed of my terror, and de- 
termined to show "cause why" in the plural. 

" Come in here, and have a glass of some- 
thing," said he, turning into a little cabaret, 
with whose penetralia he seemed not unfamiliar. 
"You're all safe here," said he, as he closed 
the door of a little room. "Let's hear all about 
it, though I half guess the story already." 

I had no difficulty in perceiving, from my com- 
panion's manner, that he believed some sudden 
shock had shaken my faculties, and that my 
intellects were for the time deranged ; nor was 
it very easy for me to assume sufficient calm to 
disabuse him of his error, and assert my own 
perfect coherency. " You have been out for a 
lark," said he, laughingly. " I see it all. You 
have been at one of those tea-gardens and got 
into a row with some stout .Fleming. All 
the young English go through that sort of 
thing. Ain't I right ?" 

"Nevermore mistaken in your life, captain. 
My conduct since I lauded would not discredit 
a canon of St. Paul's. In fact, all my habits, 
my tastes, my instincts, are averse to every sort 
of junketing. I am essentially retiring, sen- 
sitive, and, if you will, over fastidious in my 
choice of associates. My story is simply this." 
My reader will readily excuse my repeating 
what is already known to him. It is enough if 
I say, that the captain, although anything 
rather than mirthful, held his hand several 
times over his face, and once laughed out loudly 
and boisterously. 

"You don't say it was Christy Jopplyn, do 
you ?" said he, at last. " You don't tell me it 
was Jopplyn ?" 

" The fellow called himself Jopplyn, but I 
know nothing of him beyond that." 

" Why, he's mad jealous about that wife of 
his ; that little woman with the corkscrew curls 
and the scorbutic face, that came over with us. 
Oh ! you did not see her aboard, you went below 
at once, I remember; but there was she in her 
black ugly, and her old crape shawl " 

" In mourning ?" 

"Yes. Always in mourning. She never 
wears anything else, though Christy goes about 
in colours, and not particular as to the tint, 

There came a cold perspiration over me as I 

CbvlM DiekoniO 


[October 13, 1WO.] 5 

heard these words, and perceived tliat my proffer 
of devotion had been addressed to a married 
woman, and the wile of tlio "most jealous man 
in Europe." 

" A IK! who is thisJopplyn?" asked I,haughtily, 
and in all the proud confidence of my present 

"lie's a railway contractor a shrewd sort of 
fellow, with plenty of money, and a good head 
on his shoulders; sensible on every point except 
his jealousy." 

" The man must be an idiot," said I, indig- 
nantly, " to rush indiscriminately about the 
world with accusations of this kind. Who wants 
to supplant him ? Who seeks to rob him of the 
affections of his wife ?" 

" That's all very well, and very specious," 
said he, gravely, " but if men will deliberately 
set themselves down at a writing-table, hammer- 
ing their brains for fine sentiments, and toiling 
to liud grand expressions for their passion, it 
does not require that a husband should be as 
jealous as Christy Jopplyn to take it badly. I 
don't think I'm a rasli or a hasty man, but I 
know what I'd do in such a circumstance." 

" And, pray, what would you do ?" said I, 
half impertinently. 

"I'd just say, 'Look here, young gent, is 
this balderdash here your hand ? Well, now, 
eat your words. Yes, eat them. I mean what 
I say. Eat up that letter, seal and all, or, by 
my oath, I'll break every bone in your skin !" 

"It is exactly what I intend," cried a voice, 
hoarse with passion ; and Jopplyn himself sprang 
into the room, and clashed at me. 

The skipper was a most powerful man, but it 
required all his strength, and not very gingerly 
exercised either, to hold off my enraged adver- 
sary. " Will you be quiet, Christy P" cried he, 
holding him by the throat. " Will you just be 
quiet for one instant, or must I knock you 
down ?" 

" Do ! do ! by all means," muttered I, for I 
thought if he were once on the ground, I could 
finish him off with a large pewter measure that 
stood on the table. 

With a rough shake, the skipper had at last 
convinced the other that resistance was useless, 
and induced him to consent to a parley. 

" Let him only tell you," said he, " what he 
lias told me, Christy." 

" Don't strike, but hear me," cried I; and 
safe in my stockade belund the skipper, I re- 
counted my mistake. 

" And you believe all this ?" asked Jopplyn of 
the skipper, when 1 had finished. 

" Believe it I should think I do ! I have 
'known him since he was a child that high, 
and I'll answer for his good conduct and be- 

Heaven bless you for that bail bond, though 
endorsed in a lie, honest ship captain! and I 
only hope I may live to requite you for it. 

Jopplyn was appeased ; out it was the sup- 
pressed wrath of a brown bear rather than the 
vanquished anger of a man. He had booked him 
sell' ior something cruel, and he was miserable 

to be balked. Nor was I myself I shame to 
own it an emblem of perfect forgiveness. I 
know nothing harder than for a constitutionally 
timid man, of weak proportions, to forgive the 
bullying superiority of brute force. It is about 
the greatest trial human forgiveness can be sub- 
mitted to ; so that when Jopplyn, in a vulgar 
spirit of reconciliation, proposed that we should 
both go and dine with him that day, I declined 
the invitation with a frigid politeness. 

" I wish 1 could persuade you to change your 
plans," said he, "and let Mrs. J. and myself see 
you at six." 

" I believe I can answer for him that it is im- 
possible," broke in the skipper ; while he added 
m a whisper, " They never can afford any delay 
they have to put on the steam at high pres- 
sure from one end of Europe to t'other." 

What could he possibly mean by imputing 
such haste to my movements, and who were 
"they" with whom he thus associated me? I 
would have given worlds to ask, but the pre- 
sence of Jopplyn prevented me, and so L could 
simply assent with a sort of foolish laugh, and a 
muttered "Very true quite correct." 

" Indeed, how you manage to be here, now, I 
can scarcely imagine," continued the skipper. 
" The last of yours that went through this took 
a roll of bread, and a cold chicken with him into 
the train, rather than halt to eat his supper 
but I conclude you know best." 

U'hat confounded mystification was passing 
through his marine intellects I could not iathom. 
To what guild or brotherhood of impetuous tra- 
vellers had he ascribed me ? Why should I not 
"take mine ease in mine inn?" All this was 
very tantalising and very irritating, and pleading 
a pressing engagement, I took leave of them 
both, and returned to the hotel. 

I was in need of rest and a little composure. 
The incident of the morning had jarred my 
nerves and disconcerted me much. But a few 
hours ago, and life had seemed to me like a 
flowery meadow, through which, without path 
or track, one might ramble at will ; now, it 
rather presented the aspect of a vulgar kitchen 
garden, fenced in, and divided, and partitioned 
off, with only a few very stony alleys to walk in. 
" This boasted civilisation of ours," exclaimed 
I, " what is it but snobbery ? Our class dis- 
tinctions our artificial intercourses our hypo- 
critical professions our deference for externals, 
are they not the flimsiest pretences that ever 
were fashioned ? Why has no man the courage 
to make short work of these, and see the world 
as it really is ? Why has not some one gone 
forth, the apostle of frankness and plain speak- 
ing, the same to prince as to peasant ? What I 
would like, would be a ramble through the less 
visited parts of Europe countries in which 
civilisation slants in just as the rays of a setting 
sun steal into a forest at evening. 1 would buy 
me a horse. Oh, Blondel," thought I, sud- 
denly, "am I not in search of you? Is it not 
in the hope to recover you that I am here, and, 
with you for my companion, am I not content 
to roam the world, taking each incident of the 

6 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

way with the calm of one who asks little of his 
fellow-men save a kind word as he passes, and a 
God speed as he goes ?" I knew perfectly that, 
with any other beast for my " mount," I could 
not view the scene of life with the same bland 
composure. A horse that started, that tripped, 
that shied, reared, kicked, cromed his neck, or 
even shook himself, as certain of these beasts 
do, would have kept me in a paroxysm of 
anxiety and uneasiness, the least adapted of all 
moods for thoughtfulness and reflection. Like 
an ill-assorted union, it would have given no 
time save for squabble and recrimination. But 
Blondel almost seemed to understand my mis- 
sion, and lent himself to its accomplishment. 
There was none of the obtrusive selfishness of 
an ordinary horse in his ways. He neither 
asked you to remark the glossiness of his skin, 
nor the graceful curve of his neck ; he did not 
passage nor curvet. Superior to the petty arts 
by which vulgar natures present themselves to 
notice, he felt that destiny had given him a duty, 
and he did it. 

Thus thinking, I returned once more to the 
spirit which had first sent me forth to ramble, 
to wander through the world, spectator, not 
actor ; to be with my fellow-men in sympathy, 
but not in action; to sorrow and rejoice as 
they did, but, if possible, to understand life as 
a drama, in which, so long as I was the mere 
audience, I could never be painfully afflicted or 
seriously injured by the catastrophe : a wonder- 
ful philosophy, but of which, up to the present, 
I could not boast any pre-eminent success. 


IT is by no means an uncommon thing, on the 
contrary it is so common as to approximate to a 
nuisance, to hear people bitterly complaining of 
the attention which is paid in this country to 
the cultivation of Latin and Greek. They say 
if their sons are to be sent to school and loaded 
with impositions and progged with a stick, let 
it be for something which will profit them, it' 
they survive, in after life. Let them be loaded 
with impositions for French, and progged with 
a stick for German, and murdered for nothing at 
all. At any rate, don't make their lives a burden 
for Latin, and their souls weary for Greek. 
Now with respect to Latin, we have nothing to 
say, except that we never heard of its doing any 
great harm; and, being the most difficult lan- 
guage in point of construction, and the most 
like the German so far of any with which we are 
acquainted, it might be supposed to be not a 
bad starting-point for the acquisition of other 
languages ; however, let it go ; our business is 
with Greek ; Greek is still a spoken language, 
Greek is becoming every day more and more like 
the Greek that boys learn at school; and but 
lately there was a dinner at the London Tavern 
at which all the speeches were made in Greek, and 
such Greek as aiiy scholar with one day's study 
of a Modern Greek Grammar might read with 
considerable ease. It must not be imagined that 
the gentlemen who dined at that well-known 

tavern had fallen victims to strong wine and 
were trying to outvie each other in extravagance 
by making speeches in the tongues which they 
had learnt at school. No, they were all as 
sober as people usually are, after a dinner at the 
London Tavern. They were an assemblage of 
gentlemen who have increased and multiplied 
amongst us, particularly in London, Manchester, 
and Liverpool, whose names constantly figure in 
the columns of our newspapers as mingling in 
our commerce, inhabiting our most fashionable 
quarters, frequenting our operas, and adding 
lustre to our Bankruptcy Courts ; in fact, they 
were Greek merchants. They had met together 
to celebrate an auspicious event in their modern 
history the establishment of a newspaper in 
their own language, which is to be amongst their 
people (6/*oyej/etf) what the Times (6 Xpovoi) is 
amongst Englishmen. It is called the British 
Star (6 EperawiKos 'Aorjjp), for what reason 
we cannot say; whether because it is to en- 
lighten us, or because its rays will diverge from 
Britain and shed light upon Greeks in all parts 
of the world, did not transpire. 

But, whatever be the origin of its title, 
its establishment is a proof that the Greeks 
have not yet relinquished their national lan- 
guage, and that the teaching of the ancient 
tongue at our schools and universities might, 
with advantage, be combined with that of the 
modern. And what would make this easier, 
is the fact that at the court of Athens, and 
amongst all educated Greeks witness Tri- 
coupi's 'EAA^IVKJ) 'Eiravdo-Tao-is every effort is 
made to assimilate the modern to the ancient 
Greek. We do not mean in those abstruse 
points which require an acquaintance with Par- 
son's Preface, and Bos on Ellipses, dissertations 
on & v with the optative mood, essays upon the 
use of OTTCOJ with the indicative mood and all 
sorts of critical jargon, but in the words them- 
selves that they may be all formed according to 
the rules of Greek analogy, introducing as little 
as possible foreign elements. The constructions 
have been altered for good and simplified amaz- 
ingly, so that there is no language so easy if 
you have had a public school education of ac- 
quisition as the modern Greek. And this is the 
language which our Greek merchants, as we 
know personally, make a point of speaking 
amongst one another; a proficiency in it is 
therefore, with persons engaged in commercial 
pursuits, a matter of some moment. It is true 
that most Greek merchants speak French, but it 
is always worth while to be able to converse with 
a man in his mother tongue. In Germany we 
believe all Greek scholars are acquainted both 
with the modern constructions and the modern 
pronunciation, and there is no reason on earth 
why not only English scholars but English boys 
at school should not be equally well instructed; 
nothing would be easier than to combine the 
modern pronunciation with the ancient mode of 
construction and inflexion. A boy would then 
see the use of the accents which now appear to 
him invented by the enemy simply to try his 
temper. We ourselves recollect the confusion 


[October 13, WO.] J 

which we caused in the mind of a Greek to 
whom we won: pointing out the shape of St. 
George's Chapel, Windsor. We wished him to 
mulct's land that it was built iu tho form of a 
cross, am! wo said, 'll poptyri ti/ui TOV (rruupw. 
Our Greek friend's mind evidently failed to 
calch any idea of what we meant; but as soou 
as we corrected ourselves and said, 2vyyi*>f*T)v, 
Kvpi(-<TTiwpov, a gleam of intelligence flashed 
across his face, and he crossed his fore lingers as 
Le answered, MeiXicrra, /*aXi<rru, *craXa^o/. 

But to return to our friends at the London 
Tavern. A fanciful captain of Engineers (Xoxnyoy 
TOV (jLTjxaviKov) says : "I discover Greece in the 
midst of England, Athens in the centre of Lon- 
don, and 1 join in your feelings of pride when 
I see above my head, with joy upon their faces, 
our ancient gods and heroes listening now for 
the first time in this famous hall to their own 
native tongue." There is not a word of Greek 
in his communication which a very indifferent 
scholar might not understand ; he would trans- 
late (j>ai8pwop,evovs, " cleaned up for the occa- 
sion," perhaps ; ami he might be right, for the 
word would Dear it, and the circumstance would 
be probable. At any rate, it is a proof that 
Hellas is reviving, and that the language of 
Themistocles and Pericles and the great men of 
ancient Greece is reviving : and we repeat, why 
should not our youth have the chance of avail- 
ing themselves of that fact? Answer may now 
be made to the querulous inquiry, what is the 
use of Greek ? It may be read and it may be 
spoken. Why, the very first time we were ever 
in a Greek's house, we took up a book, and what 
do you think it was called ? 'O ir(pur\av&fj.ti'os 
lovSaios the Wandering Jew ! We had no idea 
when we stumbled through rvTrrco, that we 
should live to read a novel in the Greek charac- 
ter ; but greater surprises than that awaited us : 
we have lived to ask a living creature " if we 
should ring the bell," " if we should give him 
some fish," " if we should cut him some bread," 
" if he would take some meat," &c, all in Greek ! 
But we never thought we should read a police 
case in Greek ; yet we have. The case is headed 
Mtdr) Drunkenness. A woman of dissi- 
pated appearance (aKoXaVrou 3\^os) is brought 
up in the Thames police-court (eV ry Trrato-^a- 
ToSiKfitp Tafj.(tTios), charged with stealing an 
overcoat (tVti/Surjjr), value twelve shillings 
(<rXu/ia). She pawned (f$a\f ivtxypov) the 
coat and got drunk with the money ((pe'Ova-t 
p.( ra xprjfiara). The magistrate sentenced the 
woman to three months' imprisonment and hard 
labour (e<y Tpieov nqvow <j)v\aKHTtv KO\ fiapfa 
tpya). Moreover, the British Star has fur- 
nished us with a Life (in Greek) of sip ''Eppixos 
"A/3XwK (Sir Henry Havelock), in which we 
are informed that the hero was born at BMTO-OIT- 
ovfapudovd (Bishop Wearmouth), and in this 
Life we meet with the names of certain other 
great men to wit, Ouuriyroi/ (Washington), 
NXo-wv (Nelson) and OitXtyrwv (Wellington). 

The proper names are of course the great diffi- 
culty, and the names of places are sometimes 
almost unintelligible; and the unintelligibility is 
increased by the uncertainty that appears to exist 
as yet with respect to the manner of rendering 
certain combinations of letters : for instance, 
we find Manchester written in three distinct 
fashions, Maj/oxorcp, Mayyforpia, and Marfr- 
rtp T( being the orthodox equivalent in mo- 
dem Greek for tch or ch. H is usually repre- 
sented by X, so that we get the following gro- 
tesque-looking words to represent the names of 
our principal manufacturing towns : MAN2E2- 

The inhabitants will perhaps think it very 
hard to be misrepresented to the world in this 
way ; and poor Beta is made to do more work 
than ought to be expected of him. He repre- 
sents, it will be observed, B and ^"and W t 
whereas his only legitimate function is to dis- 
charge the simple duties of F ; B we have 
hitherto been accustomed to see transmogrified 
into Mil ; and W invariably resolved into Ou. 
It may be that the British Star, as it gains 
in brilliancy (unless it be a meteor, destined 
to sudden extinction), will reveal to its writers 
some plain way of extricating themselves 
from their embarrassing position, and esta- 
blishing a method of exchange between the 
letters which shall relieve not only the hard- 
worked Beta, but his brother in affliction Delta. 
For in modern Greek the proper sound of 5 
is the th in the ; and the Modern Greeks have 
no sound d except under peculiar circumstances, 
as when T follows v : thus they pronounce oj/ra, 

It is not our intention to write an Essay upon 
the modern Greek language, we wish simply 
to point out to all whom it may concern, that 
an effort is now being made to reintroduce into 
Europe, in the purest slate compatible witli in- 
evitable changes in the world, a language which 
is not only in general use in the East as the 
medium of commercial intercourse, but the 
daily language of society amongst a colony of 
people established in the heart of our own 
country ; that this language, so far as its gene- 
ral structure and actual words go, is taught in 
all our public schools and universities, and yet 
is seldom pursued in after life by any English 
scholar; and that this language must possess 
to a great extent the elements of vitality, when 
it can express in words formed after the analogy 
of the ancient Greek nearly everything con- 
nected with the social life, arts, science, and 
commerce of the nineteenth century. We can- 
not quite agree with one of the enthusiastic 
speakers at the London Tavern, who was of 
opinion that had the Greeks been represented 
hy their own or^an, had the British Star, in fact, 
existed at the time of those disturbances which 

8 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

preceded the Crimean war, ovros 6 Kpi/miVcds 
iro\ep.os otv fj6f\fi> aKo\ov6rja-(i (this Crimean 
war would not have followed). The British 
Star would have convinced the Greek Christians, 
both in Greece and in Turkey, that there was no 
trusting the hollow promises of Russia, and 
would have convinced the British people, and 
the world in general, that the best policy of the 
Greeks as a people was anti-Russian. 

However, our view of the British Star is not 
so much political as educational ; it furnishes 
us with an answer to parents who ask : " But 
will Greek be any use to my boy in life ?" 
" Yes, sir," or " madam, he may converse in 
it at the Baltic and elsewhere, if he pleases, 
and he may read a newspaper printed in that 
language in the heart of London." But 
surely, some one will say, you can't talk about 
" the markets" in Greek ! Read this, then : 
AAEYPA. "EveKa TIJS dftf^aioTijros TOV Kaipov f 
TOCTOV ol KO.TO\OI ooov KOI ol dyopaffTai edfi^av 
[jLfyicrrrjv f7n<pv\aii> KOTO. TTJV 7rape\0ov<rav 
e/38opi'Sa, at Tifj.a.1 op.a>s v^u>6r)(rav Kara ras 
xdfa-ivas Tr\r)po(popias dno (ftp. 60 p-e'xpt 65 
KOTO. sax. (Flours. In consequence of the un- 
settled state of the weather, holders as well as 
buyers have displayed very great reserve during 
the past week ; prices had risen, however, ac- 
cording to yesterday's accounts, from 60 to 65fr. 
per sack.) Isn't that the true business smack ? 
Of course if you will be schoolboyish and trans- 
late " so much the holders as much as also the 
purchasers," &c., you may make it sound absurd ; 
but there is nothing intrinsically queer in the 
Greek. Then we have 2ITOI (wheats), BAM- 
BAKIA (cottons), KASEAE2 (coffees), ZAXA- 
PEI2 (sugars), AAEIMMATA (tallows), IINEY- 
MATA (spirits), AEPMATA (hides), MAAAIA 
(wools), NHMATA (yarns). Then we read that 
rot xetjuepiw vcpatrpara e 97-77 $77 <rai> TrXetorepoi/ 
(winter stuffs were more asked after), or that 
f] dyopd flvai ordo-i/Ltoj (the market is firm), or 
the old sad tale TroXXol ru>v epyaruv ndBv^ai 
dpyol (many of the hands are out of work 
there's no difficulty about translating that, it 
means that many men are starving) ; or we are 
a little cheered to find that TO p-avponinepov 
eaKo\ovdei<rTa6fp6v fls rr/v 7rpoTfpavvnepTiiJ:T](Tiv 
(black pepper like a good boy continues 
steady at its former high price), together with 
useful information upon the subject of 'povp-ta 
(rum), KaKctov (cocoa), rf]iov (tea), Ka<j>es (coffee), 
opvtoj/ (rice), apo>p,ara (spices), virpnv (salt- 
petre), a-dyos (sago), KOKKWI\T] (cochineal), 6V- 
TpaKopaQrj (indigo), Kdwaftis (hemp), e'Xaia 
(oils). And to those who are not commercially 
disposed, we would submit for their considera- 
tion and amusement the question how they 
would translate into Greek " the Prince of 
Wales's visit to Canada ?" And then, when 
they had puzzled sufficiently over it, we would 
ask them whether they had any idea it would 
result in anything so curious (to look at) as 
'H EI2 KANAAAN 'Eni2KEi'l2 TOY IlPir- 

FHnO2 TQN OYEA2 ! Could they, moreover, 
fancy a descendant in a direct line from Plato, 
writing : Aia T^Xeypa^/xaTor OTTO " "Ayiov 
Ididwrfv e'ju.a$o/xei/ on 6 np'iyyjj^ rS>i> OieXy 
f(j>dao-ev vyias els Niov(povv8\av8iav rrjv 23 rb 
'eoirfpas, Kal on p-eyaXat irpofTip.a<riai eyfvovTo 
npos vnoooxyv TOV (By telegram from St. John, 
we learnt that the Prince of Wales arrived 
safely at Newfoundland on the 23rd, in the 
evening, and that great preparations were made 
to receive him) ? At any rate the descendant 
of Plato follows the correct rule of composition 
enunciated by Mr. Shilleto, and gives us TTJXe- 
ypd$r)na like a Greek and not rrfkeypafnia. like 
a scholar of Balliol. Nor let it be for one in- 
stant supposed that crinoline is unrepresented 
in the new-old language ; but as the Grecian 
ladies of the olden time were sung of by the 
poets rather as fiaOvKoXnoi than (3a6vnvyoi, a 
word was to be invented. That was not diffi- 
cult : Kptj/oXiVa does well enough. Let us see 
how the Greek renders "the wadding struck 
the young woman and broke the steel hoops of 
her crinoline." Nothing can be simpler : TO 
(TTVTTelov (KTVTrrja'f TTjv vfaviftd KOI edpavcre rovs 
^aXv/3Stj/ovs crrfCpdvovs rrjs KpivdXivas. 

Advertisements in Greek are particularly 
refreshing : we meet Benson's watches, or 
'QpoXo'yia : we are notified that Xpvcrd TrcoXowrat 
OTTO 4 ews 100 yxivfas, and 'Apyvpd dno 2 teas 
50 yKivfas, and that TO wpoXo-yia crreXXovTat 
iravraxov ol doW TOV &po\oyonoiov (the 
watches are sent to all parts at the expense of 
the maker). There is here a slight departure 
(unless there be a misprint) from Greek accu- 
racy, which would require Traj/Ta^otor iravraxoo-f. 
The 'Pe/So'X/Sta TOU KdATo- (Colt's revolvers) also 
greet us, and appropriately near to them the 
IlfvOifia (popp.ara (or mourning garments) of 
Jay and Co. es p,fTpiaTdTr]v n/j.fjv (at a very 
moderate price). The KoXXa roil Gleufield, or 
Glenfield starch, is also before our eyes, and 
Kvptos Tewpyios 2/cwr (Mr. George Scot) recom- 
mends his "A/caS^/xt'a els Alderley Edge TrKrjaiov 
TTJS Mayyecrrplas. 

We hope we have now made it sufficiently ap- 
parent that the simple reading of modern Greek, 
particularly in the improved and purified form 
which is now gaining ground amongst the Hel- 
lenes, is a matter of tolerable ease to any one 
who is acquainted even with only the English 
system of teaching ancient Greek. The scholar 
will occasionally be shocked at the cases which 
certain prepositions are made to govern; but 
let him only make up his mind to bear it like a 
man, and he will soon become accustomed to 
it. Conversation will be a little more difficult, 
but pronunciation might be learnt in half an 
hour. The chief stumbling-block would be the 
fusions and clippings in which the modem 
Greeks indulge ; for instance they say, KaX^ejoa 
eras, good day to you ; Tinas or TtVare (for n 
firms or ri eiVaTe), what did you say ? Then. 
they use \tfj.p.(v for Xe'yo^ev, Trdyw tor v 



[October U.IMO.] 9 

for o^u'/noi/, vtpo for vtpbv, ^<u/;l for 
/, K.T.X., though there appears to be an in- 
clination no\v-a-days to use the old word ap^os 
instead of ^w/xt. Bearing tlii-s in mind, we ven- 
lu;v to say that any Englishman with a good 
knowledge of ancient Greek might, in three 
months, not only make himself understood by a 
modern Hellene, but (which is not so easy) also 
understand him, supposing him to belong to the 
educated class. 


LINNAEUS, investigating the causes of the dis- 
seminat ion of the plants of one locality over the 
whole inhabitable earth, says " the first cause is 
the force or power of the air." " We must ad- 
mire," he continues, " the providence of the 
Creator who sends his winds, especially in the 
autuMin, to shake the trees and make their 
leaves and seeds fly like flakes of snow ; these 
winds sweep also the surface of the earth, lift 
again and again the fallen seeds, and disperse 
them on every side until at last they may have 
been sent even to remote regions propitious to 
germination. It is scarcely a hundred years ago 
that a plant, indigenous to America, was brought 
to the Garden of Plants in Paris, from which its 
seeds have been dispersed by the winds over 
France, Italy, Sicily, Belgium, and Germany. 
The snapdragon (Antirrhinum) has been widely 
disseminated in the neighbourhood of Upsal, 
from a few plants sent to the Botanic Garden. 
It is to facilitate this dissemination by the air, 
that when the fruit has become ripe it is elevated 
on stalks or stems. For the same purpose most 
seed-vessels are open only at the top. The seeds 
do not fall on the ground at the foot of the mo- 
ther plant ; they can get out only when the 
seed-vessel, beaten by a very strong wind, is 
turned upside down, and they are dispersed on 
every side. The seed-vessel of henbane (Hyos- 
cyamus) has a horizontal opening when the 
seeds become ripe, but this opening does not 
permit their egress unless the seed-vessel is 
violently shaken by the wind." 

Other seeds when ripe are provided with hooks 
made to catch hold of passing animals, which, 
after a time, get rid of them by rolling on the 
ground. Those seeds which are surrounded by 
a succulent pulp, and are swallowed by birds and 
quadrupeds, are generally favourably consigned 
to the earth. Most seeds pass uninjured through 
the stomach and intestines of all animals, with 
the exception of gallinaceous fowls. Currant 
seeds, after having been eaten by man, can ger- 
minate. Foxes sow the seeds of the cranberry 
(Vaccinum) after eating its red berries. Apple 
and pear trees are often found in ditches and 
under hedges, proceeding, it is said, from fruit 
which has been devoured by peasants. Farmers 
are often astonished when, after having, as they 
think, perfectly prepared their fields, and sown 
excellent corn, on reaping they find some places 
covered only with useless oats. 

In other cases, mammiferes and birds devour 

only a portion of seeds, while the rest fall 
and become productive. When the squirrel 
shakes the cones of the pine-tree to obtain the 
seeds, a great number fall to the ground and are 
lost to him. The inhabitants of Iceland call a 
particular sort of nut "rats' nut," from the cir- 
cumstance that the rats gather them in great 
numbers, and hide them in the ground. But as 
the rats are very often killed by one or other 
of their numerous enemies, the nuts are left to 
germinate. Seeds falling into worm-holes are 
sure to germinate, as well as seeds which drop 
into the subterraneous passages made by the 
moles to ensnare worms and insects. The hog, 
by tearing up the earth as with a ploughshare, 
prepares it for the reception of seeds; the 
hedgehog passes his life in doing the same ser- 

Linnseus says that in Lapony the power of 
rivers in dispersing seeds is seen very plainly. 
"I have found," he says, "on the banks of the 
rivers of that country, alpine plants, often at 
the distance of thirty leagues from their native 
soil. The ripe seeds ot these alpine plants, 
swept away by the waters, after being carried 
longer or shorter distances along the course of 
these rivers, are at last thrown upon their 
banks, where they strike root." 

Seas, also, have a great share in the trans- 
mission of seeds. It is generally believed that 
seeds, when steeped in water, become corrupt 
and unfruitful, but this is a mistake. The water 
of the sea has seldom sufficient heat to destroy 
seeds. For the same reason, fields are some- 
times covered with water during a whole winter, 
and yet the seeds with which they were sown 
remain in good condition. 

Linnaeus thus describes the dissemination of 
the rose of Jericho. " Nature has wonderfully 
endowed the anastatica : while its seeds are 
being ripened, the branches which surround the 
fruit contract and seize it as in a fist, so putting 
the seeds beyond the reach of birds. This plant 
growing upon the sandy shores of the Red Sea, 
is exposed to the fury of the autumnal storms, 
when the sea beating violently upon the plant, 
seizes its fruit and hurls it into the deep ; but 
the following tides throw it back upon the 
sandy beach. Now, this fruit has the property 
of remaining uninjured by cold sea water, but 
when this last has become lukewarm (which 
takes place when the fruit is left on the sand), 
the fruit swells, the branches which unfold it 
relax, the seeds are poured out, and, finding all 
that is necessary for germination, send forth 
their roots, and soon cover the whole coast with 
their verdure." 

Some seeds when put into the earth germinate 
quickly, others more slowly ; some even stay 
there a long and very variable time before they 
appear on the surface. 

Linnaeus says: "When but a boy, my father 
had given me a little garden within his own, 
where I reared all sorts of plants in great num- 
bers. Among others, I remember very well a 
particular thistle, which for many years my 
lather had in vain made every effort to destroy 

10 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

completely : the same ground bringing forth 
every succeeding year new individuals of this 
detested species, although their predecessors 
had invariably been pulled up and burnt. I 
have now learned the cause of what appeared 
unaccountable to us then. It must have been 
the presence of latent seeds coming to light 
from time to time, as I know that these seeds, 
when consigned to the earth, may remain there 
during two, three, and even ten or twenty 
years without losing their power of germina- 

A plant which had not been seen for forty 
years in the Botanical Garden of Upsal, reap- 
peared there spontaneously in the year 1731 
after the ground had been dug up. Another 
plant, a lobelia, reappeared and flourished in 
the Botanical Garden of Amsterdam, after lying 
buried in the earth twenty years. Cucumber 
seeds have been kept forty years, and even fifty 
years, without losing their germinative power. 
The railway excavations every where havebrought 
to light, plants long supposed to be extinct. 

Corn found in the ruins after the fire of Lon- 
don has been raised; wheat which has been 
enclosed in the wrappings of an Egyptian 
mummy has been reared, and has reproduced 
fruit in Germany ; Indian corn taken from the 
tombs of the Incas has done the same thing 
in America. It has been observed that when 
the virgin forests of America have been burnt 
down, and the land ploughed up, an entirely 
new flora has appeared : a fact which has been 
accounted for, by the supposition that the seeds 
had been buried forages, in depths beyond the 
reach of vegetation. 

The ground or earth nut (Arachis) is the 
fruit of a plant growing in South America, not 
unlike our bean. After the flowers fall off, the 
young pods bend until they reach the ground, 
where they bury their seeds three or four inches 
under the soil. These nuts contain an extremely 
sweet fixed oil, like that of almonds, which, if 
they were allowed to ripen above ground, would 
become rancid and useless, and the seeds would 
not germinate when planted. The negroes of 
South Carolina make these earth nuts their prin- 
cipal food. 

The seeds of the pine and fir trees are pro- 
tected in a somewhat similar manner. On 
account of their oily nature, too much heat 
would be apt to make them rancid and sterile ; 
therefore the scales of the cone, which, while the 
tree is in flower are spread out when the seed is 
ripe, close one over the other like the tiles of a 
roof, effectually shutting out the rain ; and in 
proportion as winter approaches and the cold 
increases, the scales tighten more and more 
round the seeds they defend. About the be- 
ginning of April, when the returning sun 
sends forth his first warm rays, the scales of the 
cone open, and let the seeds fall to be received 
into the bosom of the tepid earth, where vernal 
showers soon draw out their roots. 

The subterraneous pea (Latliyrus subterra- 
neum) bears very few blossoms upon its 
flower-stalk, and still fewer fruits; but there 

spring from the plant, white flower-stalks, 
having no leaves, and bearing not variegated 
coloured flowers like the others, but white 
ones. These white flowers produce fruit which 
is immediately consigned to the earth, and thus 
screened from devastation by birds. It would 
appear that the coloured flowers are for show, 
and the white flowers for use. The seeds of one 
of the clovers are protected in the same way. 

Certain seeds, owing to a curious arrangement 
of their various parts, have a tendency to move 
about. If a seed of the plant called crupina (a 
kind of centaury) is placed in the palm of the 
hand, it will be sure to move off; and if put 
between the stocking and the back part of the 
foot, it will work its way over the whole body, 
and at last get out, either at the collar or at the 
sleeve. These movements are made by the 
erect and projecting bristles with which the 
seeds are armed, moving always in one direc- 
tion, like feet. The seeds of the sterile oat 
(Avena nuda), after it has been gathered into 
the barn, will wander out of their seed-cups, and, 
if the weather is damp, march off in a body, like 
a regiment of flies to the nearest wall, where 
they will fix and take root. The explanation 
of this apparently marvellous phenomenon is 
extremely simple. Each grain is surmounted 
by a long spiral bristle or awn, which is very 
sensitive to every change of weather, and which 
lengthens or contracts according as the air is 
moist or dry. Thus, a forward motion is pro- 
duced like a snail putting out its body and then 
pulling its shell after it. The seed is prevented 
from going backwards, by the small spines placed 
backwards covering the awn. If the seeds or 
spores of any of the ferns are dropped on a piece 
of paper and examined with a microscope, they 
are seen to jump about and disperse themselves 
like mites or small insects. 

Some plants propagate by means of their roots 
and sprouts. The mangrove fig-tree (Rhizo- 
phora mangle) is found growing on the low 
marshy parts of all tropical sea-shores. The 
fruit germinates in the seed-cup while hanging 
on the tree, and grows downwards until it 
reaches the ground, where it takes root in the 
mud. Each plant in its turn multiplies and 
spreads in the same way ; and Linnaeus asserts 
that a single plant, if preserved from destruc- 
tion, would, in course of time, multiply so as to 
cover the entire inhabitable surface of our 

Linnaeus, keeping within reasonable limits, 
and calculating what would be the effect of a 
single plant producing constantly only two suc- 
cessful bearing seeds each season, (inds that in 
twenty years there would be one hundred and 
ninety-one thousand two hundred individuals. 
"What then," he exclaims, "would be the as- 
tonishing effect of such a multiplication con- 
tinued over more than six thousand years !" 

About the year 1GGO, the Christian Fathers 
at Paris possessed a root of barley, bearing forty- 
nine stalks and more than eighteen thousand 
seeds. Ray counted thirty-two thousand seeds 
in a poppy-head, and three hundred and sixty 

Chr!ei Dlckent.] 


[Oetobr IS, 1800.1 11 

thousand on a tobacco-plant. Dodart is said 
to have counted five hundred and twenty- 
nine thousand seeds on a single elm-tree, and 
yet these plants are far from beinp' the most 
fecund. The number of spores produced by a 
fern is almost incalculable. 

A Monsieur Pouchet, Professor of Natural 
History at Rouen, and a zealous defender of 
the spontaneous generation theory (or, as it is 
now called, " heterogenia"), was annoyed by 
continually hearing statements and specula- 
tions about what the air might carry ; and 
he resolved to find out what it did really 
carry. Having procured with the greatest care 
some dust from nooks and crannies on the 
tops of the towers and steeples of ancient 
Rouen, which, in all probability, no hand had 
touched since the mason placed the stones, 
M. Pouchet examined it with most scrupulous 
attention. He found, amidst much inorganic 
matter, more or less organic substances, and 
among these were always found minute seeds 
easily distinguishable by their microscopical cha- 
racteristics. Respecting the power of the air and 
winds in transporting small bodies to enormous 
distances, it is unquestionably proved that in a 
great irruption of Vesuvius its ashes were 
carried into Bohemia, and the great Pacific 
Ocean ; of course, then, the spores of fungi 
might be carried all round the world. 


I have no lands or houses, 

And no hoarded golden store, 
What cnn I leave those who love me 

When they see my face no more? 
Do not smile; I am not jesting, 

Though my words sound gay and light, 
Listen to me, dearest Alice, 

I will make my will to-night. 

First for Mabel, who will never 

Let the dust of future years 
Dim the thought of me, but keep it 

Brighter still perhaps with tears ; 
In whose eyes whate'er I glance at, 

Touch, or praise, will always shine, 
Through a strange and sacred radiance, 

l>y Love's charter, wholly mine; 
She will never lend another 

Slenderest link of thought I claim, 
I will therefore to her keeping, 

Leave my memory and my name. 

do truer service 

To her kind than I have done, 
So I leave to her young spirit 

The lung work I have began. 
Wi'll! the threads are tangled, broken, 

And the colours do not blend, 
She will lend her earnest striving, 

Both to finish and amend: 
Aiul, when ii is all completed, 

Strong with care and rich with skill, 
Just because my hands began it, 

She will love it better still. 

Ruth shall have my dearest token, 
The one link I dread to break, 

The one duty that I live for, 
She, when I am gone, will take. 

Sacred is the trust I leave her, 

Needing patience, prayer, and tears, 
I have striven to fulfil it, 

As she knows, these many years. 
Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary, 

Yet a blessing shall remain 
With the task, and Ruth will prize it 

For my many hours of pain. 

What must I leave for my Alice ? 

Nothing, love, to do or bear, 
Nothing that can dim your blue eyes 

With the slightest cloud of care ; 
I will leave my heart to love you 

With the tender faith of old, 
Slill to comfort, warm, and light you, 

Should your life grow dark or cold : 
No one else, my child, can claim it; 

If you find old scars of pain, 
They were only wounds, my darling, 

There is not, I trust, one stain. 

Are my gifts indeed so worthless 

Now the slender sum is told ? 
Well ! I know not ; years may bless them 

With a nobler price than gold. 
Am I poor ? Ah, no, most wealthy ! 

Not in these poor gifts you take, 
But in the true hearts that tell me 

You will keep them for my sake. 


IN a shady corner of that incomprehensible 
Palais Royal miscellany, where magazines of 
sham jewellery are set out to view, and a 
thriving business is done in that way, and where 
Monsieur Lucullus is walking down eternally to 
dine with Monsieur Lucullus at the sign of the 
Three Pro veupal Brothers where a many-headed 
Heliogabalus rides rampant, and where bonnes, 
or nursery-maids, do mostly congregate, lies the 
modest tabernacle of M. Dentu, the famous 
pamphlet publisher, whence flutters forth, daily, 
clouds of Sybilline leaves, which shadow out 
obscurely the changes political of the awful 
Memnon of the Tuileries. Under strange titles 
they fall rustling at the feet of astonished Pa- 
risians, who picK them up, and try to spell out 
what the oracle means to say. There is nothing 
that outrages the fitness of things in this func- 
tion of M. Dentu's; and though one may whis- 
per, lightly, " What on earth does he in this 
galley ?" being thus awkwardly hedged in with 
incompatible kitchen batteries and aluminium 
ornaments, the locality is about the best in the 
whole great Pandemonium on the Seine. 

But some thirty or forty years back this Ar- 
cadia, whose sylvan deities are the faun Soyer 
and the satyr Careme, could scarcely boast so 
innocent a worship. There was then sempi- 
ternal bal masque", day and night; there was 
then saturnalia iu permanence ; and those pretty 
gardens, round which run the shopkeeping ar- 
cades, were but the happy hunting-grounds of 
vice and flaunting abomination. Overhead, at 
those bright windows, au premier, where smug 
restaurant sets you out the little table for the 
dejeuner at " fixed price," where, too, mounts 
soothingly the afternoon's music, discoursed by 

]2 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Garde Imperiale,were set out other tables, fatally 
green and dangerously smooth. And the bright 
windows being flung open to let in air to gasp- 
ing fevered gamblers, sent down in exchange 
the rattle of "the wheel and click of the rake. 
From the bright windows, too, have come down, 
in despair, lost men, impaled upon those gilded 
railings. The air was filled, not with the fra- 
grance of flowers, but with reeking perfumes, 
as Lais and her sisterhood swept by, in unholy 
bands. It was a horrid medley of fluttering 
plumes, flaunting gauds, painted cheeks, wine, 
smoke, blood at times, brawls, misery, luxuri- 
ance, brazen impudence, and cringing servitude, 
this pastoral " royal palace," now almost rural 
in its innocence : a hideous sloughing sore, an 
open sewer in the heart of the city. 

Now it came to pass that a young man, of 
ardent hopes and prodigious enthusiasm, and of 
some capital besides, was just then hesitating by 
which of the many professional gates he should 
enter into active life, and at last discovered in 
himself an irresistible vocation to become a 
publisher. A publisher, of all professions ! just 
as we read the traditional stories of notable men 
fighting in early stages with poverty, and such 
cruel impediments, and finally struggling into 
artists, poets, and philosophers. So our Ladvo- 
cat for this was the name of the unique pub- 
lisher had some such elastic spirit in him. " It 
was there," as the late Mr. Sheridan once re- 
marked of himself, needlessly strengthening his 
assertion with an adjuration; "and by (adjura- 
tion), it should come out !" Tin's was the way it 
came out in M. Ladvocat's case. With a daring 
originality, the unique publisher determined to 
select for his place of business the most irregular 
of localities, and in this very hot-bed of Bohemia, 
the company of wantons and masquers was one 
morning surprised to find among them a curious 
intruder, who dealt in books. What scoffing 
must it have furnished to the two millinery 
ladies between whom he had pitched his tent, 
and who dealt in laces and general frippery, and 
did a little business of another character besides. 
It would be hard to count the number of times 
the well-worn saying of " How, in the Evil One's 
name, had he gotten into that galley ?" passed 
from light to lighter lips. Yet there was the 
modest little tabernacle, and inside the young 
and aspiring knight a very publishing Gideon. 
No doubt it fell out, as it had been prophesied 
to him by wise and dismally shaking heads, that 
the light masquers came to him, asking for 
1'aublas and the Liaisons Dangereuses, and such 
indecorous literature. No doubt the Bohemians 
stopped before his windows, and had much mer- 
riment out of the serious matter exposed there. 
But the unique publisher inside, thrilling with 
a new faith, could bide his time, which he knew 
was at hand, and presently began to preach. 

The old Grub-street tradition as to the rela- 
tions between authors and publishers has pre- 
vailed to much the same degree in most capitals. 
These poor scribbling parents who have children 
to be brought into the world have had to sue 
humbly for the common accoucheur's offices. 

The practitioners have driven cruel bargains; 
but in most cases the inky progeny have never 
seen the light, and die an undeveloped foetus. 
But the creed of our publisher was of another 
order. He chose to sue, not to be sued ; he 
sought and was not sought. And going out into 
the highways and by-ways, ranging the slums, 
and scaling the loftiest garrets, where writing 
men did mostly congregate, and chanting as he 
went a genuine Excelsior ! and calling on the 
brave, the beautiful, and, above all, the young, 
the chivalrous publisher seized the first bundle of 
MSS., placed in his hands with timorous hesita- 
tion, and courageously performed his first clinical 
operation. Within a few days, there was in his 
window the famous Messeniennes, of an obscure 
youth called ALFRED DE VIGNY, and in a few days 
all Paris was rushing frantically to buy. In this 
blindfold lottery he had drawn a prize, and gold 
poured into his coffers. The poet was devoured, 
and the unique publisher began to be talked of. 

Radiant with success, he stands at his door, 
and watches the people going by. Presently 
there passes a young man of good address, very 
handsome, with genius written upon his brow, 
but with the ugly characters of reduced cir- 
cumstances also written upon his person. The 
unique publisher marks him at once. " Young 
man," he says, " it strikes me that I see in your 
pocket that sort of swelling which a bundle of 
manuscript is likely to produce. Permit me. 
Ha ! so it is ! tied up with a bit of blue ribbon, 
too ! Courage, friend ; let us look it over to- 
gether. ODES AND BALLADS ! H'm ! The 
Loves of the Angels by Jove ! Excellent ! 
the very thing ! Step inside, my friend quick ! 
You must give me this rather, let me buy it of 

The bargain was made. Again had the unique 
publisher drawn a prize. The reduced young 
poet's name happened to be a certain VICTOR 
HUGO ; and again the public came, gathering up 
its skirts as it passed through the unclean 
throng, to buy frantically. 

When it became known that there was a 
chevaleresque publisher in the city inclined to do 
business on such unheard-of principles, there 
must have set in such a rush of youths freighted 
with manuscripts tied up in blue ribbon, as 
would have reduced any less elastic spirit to 
despair. But the unique publisher held on to 
the unique track he had chosen. He was suc- 
cessful, too, because he had succeeded ; for no- 
thing, according to the well-worn canon, suc- 
ceeds like success. All his proceeding's, too, 
were of the same liberal character. Five or 
six copies of his favourite poets always lay cut 
upon the counter, with chairs set ready, for the 
public to enter and read, not buy, unless they 
fancied it specially. He almost preferred to 
give a volume away, rather than sell it ; and 
set curiously high prices upon his works. 
Naturally, the unique publisher became the 
talk of Paris, and presently became the rage, 
lie grew rich ; and the Boulevards were soon 
astonished by the unusual spectacle of a pub- 
lisher flying 'by in a superb cabriolet, with his 

Chsriei Dlckem.] 


[October 1,1W0.1 13 

arms (a publisher's arms !) emblazoned on the 
panels. People looked up from their little 
tables outside the cafe's, and said to each other 
with wonder, "It is the unique publisher." 

a \vcre the stories that went round of 
his revolutionary principles. How widows came 
to him in deep mourning, to tell with tears how 
they had been refused a miserable forty pounds 
for their husbands' poems. "Astonishing, 
madam !" exclaims the sympathising and unique 
publisher. " A shame ! a disgrace I Do me the 
honour to accept this trifle of, say, three hundred. 
I am exceedingly indebted Jo you for this prefer- 
enceI am indeed !" For the copyright of Cha- 
teaubriand's works, he gave five and twenty 
thousand pounds, and celebrated the contract 
by a superb entertainment to that viscount and 
his friends, in a superb hotel, such as publisher, 
unique or other, had never dwelt in before now. 
He revelled in what are called in France " luxu- 
rious editions," in the dissipation of costly 
papers and the most exquisite type. He gloried 
in monster undertakings, what are called 
"heavy" in the trade, series of sixteen and 
twenty tomes. They were his Austerlitz and 
Marengo, to which he would point with pride. 

But one day when he was advanced in life, 
there came his Waterloo, and he sank crushed by 
his own speculations. Perhaps, the hotel, the 
cabriolet, and the entertainments to noble vis- 
counts had something to do with the cata- 
strophe ; more likely it was the unwieldy pro- 
portions of his enterprises. The little shop in 
the Palais Royal, fondly looked back to, did not 
witness this decadence. It had long been ex- 
changed for the stately hotel, where the ban- 
quets had been given to distinguished guests. 
But, with the banquets it had now faded away, 
like a tinsel pantomimic structure ; and it ac- 
tually came to this sad end, that the poor 
unique, beaten at last by fortune, was glad to 
yield up his spirit upon a settle-bed in the 
dismal ward of a public hospital. 


THE rising of the Italian people from 
under their unutterable wrongs, and the tardy 
burst of day upon them after the long long 
night of oppression that has darkened their 
beautiful country, has naturally caused my mind 
to dwell often of late on my own small wander- 
ings in Italy. Connected with them, is a curious 
little drama, in which the character I myself 
sustained was so very subordinate, that I may 
relate its story without any fear of being sus- 
pected of self-display. It is strictly a true 

I am newly arrived one summer evening, in a 
certain small town on the Mediterranean. 1 
have had my dinner at the inn, and I and the 
mosquitoes are coming out into the streets to- 
gether. It is far from Naples ; but a bright 
brown plump little woman-servant at the inn, 
is a Neapolitan, and is so vivaciously ex- 
pert in pantomimic action, that in the single 
moment of answering my request to have a 

pair of shoes cleaned which I left up-stairs, 
she plies imaginary brushes, and goes com- 
pletely through the motions of polishing the 
shoes up, and laying them at my feet. I 
smile at the brisk little woman in perfect satis, 
faction with her briskness ; and the brisk little 
woman, amiably pleased with me because I am 
pleased with her, claps her hands and laughs de- 
lightfully. We are in the inn yard. As the 
little woman's bright eyes sparkle on the 
cigarette I am smoking, I make bold to offer 
her one ; she accepts it none the less merrily, 
because I touch a most charming little dimple 
in her fat cheek, with its light paper end. 
Glancing up at the many green lattices to assure 
herself that the mistress is not looking on, the 
little woman then puts her two little dimpled 
arms a-kimbo, and stands on tiptoe to light her 
cigarette at mine. " And now, dear little sir," 
says she, puffing out smoke in a most innocent 
and Cherubic manner, " keep quite straight on, 
take the first to the right, and probably you will 
see him standing at his door." 

I have a commission to " him," and I have 
been inquiring about him. I have carried the 
commission about Italy, several months. Before 
I left England, there came to me one night a cer- 
tain generous and gentle English nobleman (he 
is dead in these days when I relate the story, 
and exiles have lost their best British friend), 
with this request : " Whenever you come to such 
a town, will you seek out one Giovanni Carla- 
vero, who keeps a little wine-shop there, mention 
my name to him suddenly, and observe how it 
affects him ?" I accepted the trust, and am on 
my way to discharge it. 

The sirocco has been blowing all day, and it 
is a hot unwholesome evening with no cool sea- 
breeze. Mosquitoes and fire-flies are lively 
enough, but most other creatures are faint. The 
coquettish airs of pretty young women in the 
tiniest and wickedest of dolls' straw hats, 
who lean out at opened kttice blinds, are 
almost the only airs stirring. Very ugly and 
haggard old women with distaffs, and with 
a grey tow upon them that looks as if they 
were spinning out their own hair (I suppose 
they were once pretty, too, but it is very dif- 
ficult to believe so), sit on the footway leaning 
against house walls. Everybody who has come 
for water to the fountain, stays there, and seems 
incapable of any such energetic idea as going 
home. Vespers are over, though not so long 
but that I can smell the heavy resinous in- 
cense as I pass the church. No man seems to 
be at work, save the coppersmith. In an Italian 
town he is always at work, and always thumping 
in the deadliest manner. 

I keep straight on, and come in due time to 
the first on the right : a narrow dull street, 
where I see a well-favoured man of good stature 
and military bearing, in a great cloak, standing 
at a door. Drawing nearer to this threshold, i 
see it is the threshold of a small wine-shop; 
and I can just make out, in the dim light, the in- 
scription that it is kept by Giovanni Carlavero. 

1 touch my hat to the figure in the cloak, and 

14 [October 13,1860.3 


[Conducted by 

pass in, and draw a stool to a little table. The 
lamp (just such another as they dig out of Pom- 
peii) is lighted, but the place is empty. The 
figure in" the cloak has followed me in, and 
stands before me. 

"The master?" 

"At your service, sir." 

" Please to give me a glass of the wine of the 

He turns to a little counter, to get it. As 
his striking face is pale, and his action is evi- 
dently that of an enfeebled man, I remark that 
I fear he has been ill. It is not much, he cour- 
teously and gravely answers, though bad while 
it lasts : the fever. 

As he sets the wine on the little table, to his 
manifest surprise I lay my hand on the back of 
his, look him. in the face, and say in a low 
voice : "I am an Englishman, and you are ac- 
quainted with a friend of mine. Do you 

recollect ?" and I mention the name of my 

generous countryman. 

Instantly, he utters a loud cry, bursts into 
tears, and falls on his knees at my feet, clasping 
my legs in both his arms and bowing his head to 
the ground. 

Some years ago, this man at my feet, whose 
overfraught heart is heaving as if it would 
burst from his breast, and whose tears are wet 
pou the dress I wear, was a galley-slave in the 
North of Italy. He was a political offender, 
having been concerned in the then last rising, 
and was sentenced to imprisonment for life. 
That he would have died in his chains, is cer- 
tain, but for the circumstance that the English- 
man happened to visit his prison. 

It was one of the vile old prisons of Italy, and 
a part of it was below the waters of the harbour. 
The place of his confinement was an arched 
underground and uuder-water gallery, with a 
grill-gate at the entrance, through which it re- 
ceived- such light and air as it got. Its condition 
was insufferably foul, and a stranger could hardly 
breathe in it, or see in it with the aid of a torch. 
At the upper end of this dungeon, and con- 
sequently in the worst position, as being the 
furthest removed from light and air, the Eng- 
lishman first beheld him, sitting on an iron bed- 
stead to which he was chained by a heavy chain. 
His countenance impressed the Englishman as 
having nothing in common with the faces of 
the malefactors with whom he was associated, 
and he talked with him, and learnt how he came 
to be there. 

"When the Englishman emerged from the 
dreadful den into the light of day, he asked his 
conductor, the governor of the gaol, why Gio- 
vanni Carlavcro was put into the worst place ? 

" Because he is particularly recommended," 
was the stringent answer. 

" Recommended, that is to say, for death?" 

" Excuse me ; particularly recommended," was 
again the answer. 

" He has a bad tumour in his neck, no doubt 
occasioned by the hardship of his miserable life. 
If it continues to be neglected, and he remains 
where he is, it will kill him." 

" Excuse me, I can do nothing. He is par- 
ticularly recommended." 

The Englishman was staying in that town, and 
he went to his home there ; but the figure of this 
man chained to^the bedstead made it no home, 
and destroyed his rest and peace. He was an Eng- 
lishman of an extraordinarily tender heart, and he 
could not bear the picture. He went back to the 
prisongrate: went backagain and again, andtalked 
to the man and cheered him. He used his ut- 
most influence to get the man unchained from 
the bedstead, were it only for ever so short a time 
in the day, and permitted to come to the grate. 
It took along time, but the Englishman's station, 
personal character, and steadiness of purpose, 
wore out opposition so far, and that grace was 
at last accorded. Through the bars, when lie 
could thus get light upon the tumour, the Eng- 
lishman lanced it, and it did well, and healed. 
His strong interest in the prisoner had greatly 
increased by this time, and he formed the 
desperate resolution that he would exert his 
utmost self-devotion and use his utmost efforts, 
to get Carlavero pardoned. 

If the prisoner had been a brigand and a mur- 
derer, if he had committed every non-political 
crime in the Newgate Calendar and out of it, 
nothing would have been easier than for a man 
of any court or priestly influence to obtain his 
release. As it was, nothing could have been 
more difficult. Italian authorities, and English 
authorities who had interest with them, alike 
assured the Englishman that his object was 
hopeless. He met with nothing but eva- 
sion, refusal, and ridicule. His political pri- 
soner became a joke in the place. It was es- 
pecially observable that English Circumlocu- 
tion, and English Society on its travels, were as 
humorous on the subject as Circumlocution 
and Society may be on any subject without loss 
of caste. But, the Englishman possessed (and 
proved it well in his life) a courage very un- 
common among us : he had not the least fear 
of being considered a bore, in a good humane 
cause. So he went on persistently trying, and 
trying, and trying, to get Giovanni Carlavero 
out. That prisoner had been rigorously re- 
chained, after the tumour operation, and it was 
not likely that his miserable life could last very 

One day, when all the town knew about the 
Englishman and his political prisoner, there 
came to the Englishman, a certain sprightly 
Italian Advocate of whom he had some know- 
ledge ; and he made this strange proposal. 
" Give me a hundred pounds to obtain Carla- 
vero's release. I think I can get him a pardon, 
with that money. But I cannot tell you what 
I am going to do with the money, nor must you 
ever ask me the question if I succeed, nor must 
you ever ask me for an account of the money 
if I fail." The Englishman decided to hazard 
the hundred pounds. He did so, and heard not 
another word of the matter. P-or half a year 
and more, the Advocate made no sign, and never 
once " took on" in any way, to have the subject 
on his mind. The Englishman was then obliged 

Clurtei Dlckeni.] 


COctobtr U, IMO.} 15 

to change his residence to another and more 
famous town in the North of Italy. He parted 
from the poor prisoner with a sorrowful heart, 
as from a doomed man for whom, there was no 
release but Death. 

The Englishman lived in his new place of 
abode another half-year and more, and had no 
tidings of the wretched prisoner. At length, 
one day, he received from the Advocate a cool 
concise mysterious note, to this effect. " If you 
still wish to bestow that benefit upon the man 
in whom you were once interested, send me fifty 
pounds more, and I think it can be ensured." 
Now, the Englishman had long settled in his 
mind that the Advocate was a heartless sharper, 
who had preyed upon his credulity and his in- 
terest in nu unfortunate sufferer. So, he sat 
down and wrote a dry answer, giving the Advo- 
cate to understand that he was wiser now than 
he had been formerly, and that no more money 
was extractable from his pocket. 

He lived outside the city gates, some mile or 
two from the post-office, and was accustomed to 
walk into the city with his letters and post them 
himself. On a lovely spring day, when the sky 
was exquisitely blue, and the sea Divinely beau- 
tiful, he took his usual walk, carrying this letter 
to the Advocate in his pocket. As he went 
along, his gentle heart was much moved by the 
loveliness of the prospect, and by the thought 
of the slowly-dying prisoner chained to the bed- 
stead, for whom the universe had no delights. 
As he drew nearer and nearer to the city where 
he was to post the letter, he became very un- 
easy in his mind. He debated with himself, 
was it remotely possible, after all, that this sum 
of fifty pounds could restore the fellow-creature 
whom he pitied so much, and for whom he had 
striven so hard, to liberty? He was not a cou- 
ventially rich Englishman very far from that 
but he had a spare fifty pounds at the banker's. 
. He resolved to risk it. Without doubt, GOD has 
recompensed him for the resolution. 

He went to the banker's, and got a bill for the 
amount, and enclosed it in a letter to the Advo- 
cate that I wish I could have seen. He simply 
told the Advocate that he was quite a poor man, 
and that he was sensible it might be a great 
weakness in him to part with so much money on 
the faith of so vague a communication; but that 
there it was, and that he prayed the Advocate 
to make a good use of it. If he did otherwise 
no good could ever come of it, and it would lie 
heavy on his soul one day. 

Within a week, the Englishman was sitting 
at his breakfast, when he heard some suppressed 
sounds of agitation on the staircase, and Gio- 
vanni Carlavero leaped into his room and fell 
upon his breast, a free man ! 

Conscious of having wronged the Advocate 
in his owu thoughts, the Englishman wrote him 
an earnest and grateful letter, avowing the fact, 
and entreating him to coulide by what nu-aiis 
and through what agency he had succeeded so 
well. The Advocate returned for answer through 
the post. " There are many things, as you 
know, in this Italy of ours, that are safest and 

best not even spoken of far less written of. 
We may meet some day, and then I may tell 
you what you want to know ; not here, and 
now." But, the two never did meet again. The 
Advocate was dead when the Englishman gave 
me my trust ; and how the man had been set 
free, remained as great a mystery to the Eng- 
lishman, and to the man himself, as it was to 

But, I knew this: here was the mnn, Uiis 
sultry night, on his knees at my feet, because I 
was the Englishman's friend; here were his 
tears upon my dress ; here were his sobs 
choking his utterance; here were his kisses 
on my hands, because they had touched the 
hands that had worked out his release. He had 
no need to tell me it would be happiness to iiiiu 
to die for his benefactor ; I doubt if I ever saw 
real, sterling, fervent gratitude of soul, before 
or since. 

He was much watched and suspected, he saiil, 
and had had enough to do to keep himself out of 
trouble. This, and his not having prospered in 
his worldly affairs, had led to his having failed 
in his usual communications to the Englishman 
for as I now remember the period some two 
or three years. But, his prospects were brighter, 
and his wife who had been very ill had recovered, 
and his fever had left him, and he had bought a 
little vineyard, and would I carry to his bene- 
factor the first of its wiue? Ay, that I would 
(I told him with enthusiasm), and not a drop 
of it should be spilled or lost! 

He had cautiously closed the door before 
speaking of himself, and had talked with such 
excess of emotion, and in a provincial Italian 
so difficult to understand, that I had more than 
once been obliged to stop him, aud beg him to 
have compassion on me and be slower and 
calmer. By degrees he became so, and tran- 
quilly walked back with me to the hoteL There, 
I sat down before I went to bed and wrote a 
faithful account of him to the Englishman : 
which I concluded by saying that I would bring 
the wine home, against any difficulties, every 

Early next morning when I came out at the 
hotel door to pursue my journey, I found my 
friend waiting with one of those immense bottles 
in which the Italian peasants store their wine 
a bottle holding some half-dozen gallons 
bound round with basket-work for greater 
safety on the journey. I see him now, in the 
bright sunlight, tears of gratitude in hia eyes, 
proudly inviting my attention to this corpulent 
bottle. (At the street corner hard by, two high- 
flavoured able-bodied monks pretending to talk 
together, but keeping their four evil eyes upon 

How the bottle had been got there, did not 
appear ; but the difficulty of getting it into the 
ramshackle vetturiuo carriage in which I was de- 
parting, was so great, and it took up so much room 
when it was got in, that I elected to sit outside. 
The last I saw of Giovanni Carlavero was his 
running through the town by the side of the 
jingiuig wheels, clasping my hand as I stretched 

16 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

it down from the box, charging me with a thou- 
sand last loving and dutiful messages to his dear 
patron, and finally looking in at the bottle as it 
reposed inside, with an admiration of its ho- 
nourable way of travelling that was beyond 
measure delightful. 

And now, what disquiet of mind this dearly- 
beloved and highly-treasured Bottle began to 
cost me, no man knows. It was my precious 
charge through a long tour, and, for hundreds 
of miles, I never had it off my mind by day or 
by night. Over bad roads and they were 
many I clung to it with affectionate despera- 
tion. Up mountains, I looked in at it and saw 
it helplessly tilting over on its back, with terror. 
At innumerable inn doors when the weather was 
bad, 1 was obliged to be put into my vehicle 
before the Bottle could be got in, and was obliged 
to have the Bottle lifted out before human aid 
could come near me. The Imp of the same 
name, except that his associations were all evil 
and these associations were all good, would have 
been a less troublesome travelling companion. 
I might have served Mr. Cruikshank as a sub- 
ject for a new illustration of the miseries of the 
Bottle. The National Temperance Society might 
have made a powerful Tract of me. 

The suspicions that attached to this innocent 
Bottle, greatly aggravated my difficulties. It 
was like the apple-pie in the child's book. Parma 
pouted at it, Modena mocked it, Tuscany tackled 
it, Naples nibbled it, Rome refused it, Austria 
accused it, Soldiers suspected it, Jesuits jobbed 
it. 1 composed a neat Oration, developing my in- 
offensive intentions in connexion with this Bottle, 
and delivered it in an infinity of guard-houses, at a 
multitude of town gates, and on every draw- 
bridge, angle, and rampart, of a complete system 
of fortifications. Fifty times a day, I got down 
to harangue an infuriated soldiery about the 
Bottle. Through the filthy degradation of the ab- 
ject and vile Roman States, I had as much diffi- 
culty in working my way with the Bottle, as if 
it had bottled up a complete system of heretical 
theology. In the Neapolitan country, where 
everybody was a spy, a soldier, a priest, or a 
lazzarone, the shameless beggars of all four de- 
nominations incessantly pounced on the Bottle 
and made it a pretext for extorting money from 
me. Quires quires do I say ? Reams of forms 
illegibly printed on whity-brown paper were 
filled up about the Bottle, and it was the subject 
of more stamping and sanding than I had ever 
seen before. In consequence of which haze of 
sand, perhaps, it was always irregular, and 
always latent with dismal penalties of going 
back, or not going forward, which were only to 
be abated by the silver crossing of a base hand, 
poked shirtless out of a ragged uniform sleeve. 
Under all discouragements, however, I stuck to 
my Bottle, and held firm to my resolution that 
every drop of its contents should reach the 
Bottle's destination. 

The latter refinement cost me a separate heap 
of troubles on its own separate account. What 
corkscrews did I see the military power bring 
out against that Bottle : what gimlets, spikes, 

divining rods, gauges, and unknown tests and 
instruments ! At some places, they persisted in 
declaring that the wine must not be passed, 
without being opened and tasted; I, pleading 
to the contrary, used then to argue the question 
seated on the Bottle lest they should open it in 
spite of me. In the southern parts of Italy, 
more violent shrieking, face-making, and gesticu- 
lating, greater vehemence of speech and coun- 
tenance and action, went on about that Bottle 
than would attend fifty murders in a northern 
latitude. It raised important functionaries out 
of their beds, in the dead of night. I have 
known half a dozen military lanterns to disperse 
themselves at all points of a great sleeping 
Piazza, each lantern summoning some official 
creature to get up, put on his cocked-hat in- 
stantly, and come and stop the Bottle. It was 
characteristic that while this innocent Bottle 
had such immense difficulty in getting from 
little town to town, Signor Mazziui and the 
fiery cross were traversing Italy from end to 

Still, I stuck to my Bottle, like any fine old 
English gentleman all of the olden time. The 
more the Bottle was interfered with, the 
stauncher I became (if possible) in my first de- 
termination that my countryman should have it 
delivered to him intact, as the man whom he had 
so nobly restored to life and liberty had delivered 
it to me. If ever I have been obstinate in my 
days and I may have been, say, once or twice 
I was obstinate about the Bottle. But, I made 
it a rule always to keep a pocket full of small 
coin at its service, and never to be out of temper 
in its cause. Thus I and the Bottle made our 
way. Once, we had a break-down ; rather a bad 
break-down, on a steep high place with the sea 
below us, on a tempestuous evening when it 
blew great guns. We were driving four wild 
horses abreast, Southern fashion, and there was 
some little difficulty in stopping them. I was 
outside, and not thrown off ; but no words can 
describe my feelings when I saw the Bottle 
travelling inside, as usual burst the door open, 
and roll obesely out into the road. A blessed 
Bottle with a charmed existence, he took no 
hurt, and we repaired damage, and went on 

A thousand representations were made to 
me that the Bottle must be left at this 
place, or that, and called for again. I never 
yielded to one of them, and never parted from 
the Bottle, on any pretence, consideration, 
threat, or entreaty. I had no faith in any 
official receipt for the Bottle, and nothing would 
induce me to accept one. These unmanageable 
politics at last brought me and the Bottle, still 
triumphant, to Genoa. There, I took a tender 
and reluctant leave of him for a few weeks, and 
consigned him to a trusty English captain, to be 
conveyed to the Port of London by sea. 

While the Bottle was on his voyage to Eng- 
land, I read the Shipping Intelligence as anxi- 
ously as if I had been an underwriter. There 
was some stormy weather after I myself had got 
to England by way of Switzerland and Erance, 

CbtrlM Uiokcni.] 


[Ootobor IJ, B*>.] I/ 

and my mind greatly misgave me that the Bottle 
might be wrecked. At last to my great joy, I re- 
ceived notice of his safe arrival, and Immediately 
went down to Saint Katharine's Docks, and 
found him in a slate of honourable captivity in 
the Custom House. 

The wine was mere vinegar when I set it 
down before the generous English man pro- 
bably it had been something like vinegar when I 
took it up from Giovanni Carlavero but not a 
drop of it was spilled or gone. And the Eng- 
lishman told me, with much emotion in his face 
and voice, that he had never tasted wine that 
seemed to him so sweet and sound. And long 
afterwards, the Bottle graced his table. And 
the last time I saw him in this world that misses 
him, he took me aside in a crowd, to say, with 
his amiable smile: "We were talking of you 
only to-day at dinner, and I wished you had been 
there, for" I had some claret up in Carlavero's 


AN ignorant British publ : c has long taken it 
for granted that Shakespeare wrote the play of 
Hamlet. It is time the confiding public should be 
undeceived, and forced by direct evidence to ac- 
knowledge that, although Shakespeare did indeed 
supply certain crude materials for a play of that 
name materials incongruous, wild, and full of 
anachronisms the real play, shaped, squared, 
and harmoniously arranged according to the 
Unities, was written by Ducis, and first played 
at the Theatre-Franpais in Paris, in seventeen 
hundred and sixty-nine. 

It is to be hoped that an obstinate British 
public will not pretend ignorance of the name 
of Ducis ; this would exhibit the national pre- 
judice against foreigners in a deplorable light, 
and, moreover, would show an ingratitude and 
u want of appreciation of a great literary service, 
unworthy of a generous people. Our own duty, 
however, as faithful exponents of a fact not 
universally acknowledged, obliges us as a matter 
of routine to state that Jean Francois Ducis was 
born at Versailles in seventeen hundred and 
thirty-three; that he was the associate and friend 
of Thomas and of Florian ; that he succeeded 
Voltaire in the fauteuilof the Academic Franpaise 
in seventeen hundred and seventy-nine ; that 
besides writing an infinite number of epistles 
and minor poems, he performed the kind office 
of reconstructing iu Ireuch, and in accordance 
with the Unities, the mass of incongruities col- 
lected by Shakespeare as plays, and called 
.let, Romeo and Juliet, King Lear, Mac- 
beth, King John, Othello. He did some- 
thing of the same kind for Sophocles with his 
play of (Edipus, although Sophocles ought cer- 
tainly to have known all about the Unities him- 

The complete works of Ducis were collected 
for the lirst, time in eighteen hundred and 
eighteen, two years after his death ; and the 
enthusiastic editor of au edition published at 

Brussels by Wahlen and Company, imperial 
publishers, explains the whole state of the 
case, as between Shakespeare and Ducis so 
clearly, and to an unprejudiced British mind 
with such ingenuous fairness, that I cannot do 
better than lay his exposition at the outset 
before the reader : 

" Shakespeare, almost entirely debarred of educa- 
tion, writing in the midst of a still barbarous people, 
in a language scarcely formed, and for a stage 
utterly without order, was either ignorant of, or 
disdained those rules, and that dramatic affinity, 
the observance of which distinguishes our theatre ; 
and what is perhaps more grievous, he often allied 
with the truest and most exalted beauties, now the 
fault of obscenity, and now the vice of affectation. 
Ducis, with an art which would have been more 
appreciated if the difficulties of the enterprise had 
been better understood, reduced to proportion, and 
subdued to the established laws of our dramatic 
system, the gigantic and monstrous works of the 
English dramatist. He knew how to separate the 
pure and sublime traits from the impure alloy which 
dishonoured them, and to render them with that 
force, that warmth, that truth of expression, which 
associates nay, which almost places on an equality 
the rights of imitative talent with those of original 
genius. Indeed, how much of bold and profound 
thought, of touching and elevated sentiment, has he 
added to that furnished to him by his model !" 

Fortunately, no dead poet is responsible for 
the enthusiasm of his live editor, and in spite 
of the above trumpet-blast of panegyric, we 
firmly believe that Ducis was a modest and 
amiable poet. That he possessed some of the 
best qualities of a man, is shown by the fact that 
after having been attached to the service of 
Monsieur, afterwards Louis the Eighteenth, as 
Secretaire des Commandements (whatever that 
may have been), he refused, although then re- 
duced to poverty, the position and emolument of 
senator, offered to him by Napoleon. When 
pressed by a friend to accept the lucrative sine- 
cure, he replied : " I have always consulted my 
interests but little, and my distastes a great deal. 
Besides, when I come to look upon the gold lace 
with which the Solliciteur-Gen6ral is adorned, 
I am quite sure I could never bring myself to 
wear that coat." 

There must be a subtle refinement necessary 
for the thorough enjoyment of the Unities, to 
which we Englishmen cannot lay much claim. 
We must either be very dull, or diseasedly 
imaginative, when our play-going nature does 
not insist upon the reproduction of an event on 
the stage m precisely the same number of 
minutes which its action would occupy in reality; 
and when we are indifferent to the apparent an- 
nihilation of both time and space, m order to 
work out a good story. It is doubtful, indeed, 
whether the best of us would not prefer the 
Life of a Gamester, with a lapse of five years 
between each act, to the classical severity of 
Cato. Only this much may be said in our favour : 
that Corneille, in The Cid, one of his best plays, 
broke through the Unities more than once 
perhaps it was on that account the Academic 
rejected the piece and that the classical model 

18 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

upon which the old French dramatists built 
their epics lias but few modern disciples. 

For our own part, we confess to the vulgar 
want of capacity for the thorough appreciation 
of the Unities. We have a lugubrious recol- 
lection of the performance of Hamlet at the 
Theatre-Fran9ais : the Hamlet of Shakespeare, 
by Ducis. We came away from that elevated 
representation full of Ducis and dreariness. 

But let us take the play as it is writ, and 
see what the Unities have done for it. In order 
to do justice to Ducis we must first forget 
Shakespeare. The simplicity of the play, ac- 
cording to the Unities, is astonishing. There is 
but one scene in the whole tragedy, and that is 
at "Elsinore, in the palace of the kings of Den- 
mark." The first act sets us right with regard to 
some of our old friends. Hamlet is king, not 
prince, of Denmark, consequent upon the sudden 
death of his father. Claudius, " first prince of 
the blood," is conspiring the king's overthrow, 
assisted by that pleasant old gentleman whom 
we delight to hear called a " fishmonger," Polo- 
nius, now active as a cool, villanous conspirator, 
of middle age, and without a spark of eccen- 
tricity about him. This precious pah- are quite 
agreed that Hamlet, the king, from some cause 
unexplained, is " silent, sad, morose," half dead, 
and more than half insane ; and this view of his 
case they have impressed upon their co-con- 
spirators as a sufficient reason for his overthrow. 
Claudius has, besides, some special grievances 
against the old king, inasmuch as his late ma- 
jesty had never properly appreciated his military 
services, and had even disgraced him at court. 
Worse than this, he had decreed that the beau- 
tiful Ophelia, 

The sole and feeble scion of my race, 

exclaims Claudius, " should never marry." Here 
is a correction! Ophelia is the daughter of 
Claudius, not of Polonius, "0 Jephtha, judge 
of Israel !" This determination on the part of 
the late king, that Ophelia 

The light of hymen's torch should ne'er behold, 

creates an agreeable complication which the 
readers of Shakespeare will be quite unprepared 
for, and as it can scarcely be called justifiable, 
excites a sort of sympathy in the audience for 
Claudius which assists in the general bewilder- 

Polonius, in his heavy villany, suggests to 
Claudius that, as the queen-mother, Gertrude, 
doubtless intends that he should take the place 
oi her dead husband, a refusal might jeopardise 
the whole plot; upon which Claudius explains 
that he is about to make an offer of himself at 
once to the queen, not in earnest, but as a blind 
till the conspiracy shall be ripe for execution. 
Gertrude opportunely enters ; Polonius discreetly 
retires ; and Claudius makes his proposal, with 
considerable formality, however, seeing that his 
offer is set in Alexandrine v^rse, and m rhyme. 
Th:; queen is in no humour for love ; seized with 
remorse for the murder of her husband, in which 
she had assisted, she reproves Claudius for this 

expression of his passion so soon after the death 
of the king : 

Upon whose dust, within an urn enclosed, 
The darkness of the tomb has scarcely closed. 

Here we have the first intimation of the jar 
business, which afterwards assumes such formi- 
dable proportions. 

The queen, in her repentance, has become so 
thoroughly virtuous, that she repudiates all 
thought of marriage ; declares herself resolved 
to devote her life in future to the welfare of her 
son, King Hamlet, and directs Polonius, who is 
called upon the stage for the purpose, to give 
immediate orders for his coronation. This dis- 
posed of, there enters Elvire, who is the confi- 
dante of Gertrude somehow they never can 
get on without a confidante in the Unities and 
who comes to announce the arrival of Norceste : 
Norceste, the dread of the conspirators, the hope 
of the queen-mother, and the dear friend of 
Hamlet. Norceste, indeed, is no other than 
our old crony Horatio, with new powers, who 
has just hastened from England to comfort and 
assist Hamlet on the death of his father. 

An episode is now introduced in the shape of 
a revelation on the part of the queen-mother of 
her share in the murder of the late king. This 
is partly extorted from her by Elvire, who had 
beheld Gertrude in her throes of anguish, and 
being in her innocent stupidity unable to define 
the cause, presses the queen for an explanation. 
Gertrude confesses that Claudius had been her 
first love, but that, for state reasons, she had 
married the king. Upon the return of the vic- 
torious Claudius from the wars, her first passion 
had been reawakened, and the slights cast upon 
him by her husband had increased her love for 
the one while they had excited an aversion for 
the other. At a time when the king was sick, 
and craved refreshing drinks, Claudius prepared 
a "perfidious cup" of poison for his especial 
solacement, and committed it to the hands of 
the too willing Gertrude, his wife, to be given 
to him. She, poor, weak woman, at the sight 
of the haggard face of her sick husband, re- 
pented of her purpose : 

My blood froze up ; of reason's power denied, 
I fled but left the chalice by his side. 

As a natural consequence of which oversight, 
the fevered thirsty king, on waking, drank up 
the poison and died. 

Norceste (Horatio) now arrives upon 'the 
scene to find the king dead and buried that is 
to say inurned ; confusion and gloom in the 
court; and his old companion, Hamlet, af- 
flicted with all the signs of incipient madness. 
Upon this state of matters he makes the bold 
reflection : 

In court suspicion only waits its time; 

A mighty secret there is oft a mighty crime. 

The interview between Hamlet and Norceste 
brings Shakespeare faintly before our eyes. 
Hamlet has only seen the spirit of his father in 
imagination. Twice he has dreamed of him, 
and on the latter occasion the angry apparition 

Cbrlei Dlckeni.] 


[October 13, 1800.] 19 

had accused him of neglecting to avenge his 
murder, and thus censured and instructed him : 
Is it fimu^'li thy tears should wet my dust? 
Go ! take the urn wherein my bones are throat, 
Then seize thy poniard, strike ! thy steps retrace, 
And, smoking still, my ashes then replace. 
To digress a moment on this matter of the 
urn. Is it not a question whether the Unities, 
in correcting the anachronisms of Shakespeare, 
Lave not themselves committed a greater one, 
seeing it is not historically proven that the 
Danes were in the habit of burning their dead 
relatives, and of potting them in this way ? The 
idea is so classical that I suppose it must be 
accepted without a murmur ; or perhaps it was 
an exceptional proceeding adopted by the cun- 
ning Claudius to efface the traces of poison ; 
in which supposition, what a pity it is the case 
never came to be tried at the Old Bailey, that 
the analytical chemists might have come out in 
full feather ! What uninteresting chapter in 
the Causes Ce'lebres of the Newgate Calendar 
would it have afforded ! 

Norceste, like a sensible man, pooh-poohs the 
notion of the spiritual visitation of the feu roi, 
which he imputes to the heated imagination of 
Hamlet, acted upon by the story of the death 
of the King of England, who had just then, con- 
veniently enough, been found stabbed in his bed. 
The ghost, in the dream of Hamlet, had accused 
his "perfidious mother" and the "infamous 
Claudius" of being the joint murderers of his 
body ; and the idea now occurs to Hamlet that 
the recital of the murder of the King of Eng- 
land to the guilty pair, by Norceste, may 
awaken such remorse in their consciences as to 
betray them by some visible emotion. And this 
is how the Unities dispose of the grand episode 
of the play ! To them the play is not " the 
thing," as being out of time, and the players out 
of place as a troublesome mob. Hamlet imposes 
another task upon Norceste. He is aaxious for 
the possession of the um : 

I would that here before the poisoners' eyes 
My father's ashes should accusing rise ; 
And of thy faithful love the kindness bless 
That to my heart his sacred urn I press. 

In the meantime the two vulgar conspirators, 
Claudius and Polonius, are becoming seriously 
alarmed lest their plots should, by the inoppor- 
tune arrival of Norceste, and the e'clat of the 
coronation, become impossible of execution. 
They resolve, therefore, to watch the one and 
interrupt the other. Polonius is for action. 
The attempt to surprise Claudius and the queen 
into an implied confession of their guilt by the 
narration of the murder of the King of England, 
turns out a complete failure, so far as Claudius 
is concerned, who keeps his countenance like a 
consummate hypocrite as he is, and has only a 
partial success with the qxieen. This troubles 
Hamlet, and we then have a speech in which, 
after some difficulty, we discover a faint trace of 
the soliloquy on death, but oh, how taint ! 
Ophelia here appears for the first time on tho 
stage. As she is the daughter of Claudius, and 

not of Polonius, the garrulous old chamberlain 
of Shakespeare; as she never goes mad; never 
sings sweet melancholy songs ; is never drowned, 
ana, consequently, never buried, all resemblance 
between her and the original is entirely lost ; 
and the Unities, by this means, dispose at once 
of Laertes, of the grave, the skulls, and the 
gravediggers ; and the heavy drama groans on 
its dreary methodical course to the end. 

In the fifth act Norceste appears with the 
urn. It is blue, and of a dropsical shape. He 
commends it to the tears and embraces of 
Hamlet. The latter thus addresses it : 

Thou pledge of all my vows, urn terrible, yet dear, 
Thee, weeping, I invoke, and yet embrace with fear. 

Ophelia, in this scene, endeavours to soften 
the heart of Hamlet by appealing to his love for 
her, but failing in the attempt, she assumes the 
tragedy-queen tone, and exclaim? : 

My duty from this hour is parallel to thine, 
Thou wouldst avenge thy father I must succour 

Hamlet, still doubtful of the queen's guilt, 
and of the credibility of the spectre's story, is 
resolved to "swear" his mother on the urn. 
This scene is very impressive, and the best in 
the play. Gertrude is unequal to the ordeal, 
and faints at the foot of the urn when about 
falsely to attest her innocence. In this scene, 
and in one other, Hamlet is supposed to see the 
ghost of his father, and even speaks to it, but 
the spectre forms no part of the dramatis per- 
son, and is no more than an " air-drawn 
dagger," invisible to the audience. The climax 
approaches. Claudius attacks the palace with 
his conspirators, and forces his way upon the 
scene, restrained only by Norceste and his 
faithful followers. Norceste plants himself, 
sword in hand, before Hamlet : 

Norceste. Save Hamlet, people ! 

Claudius. Soldiers, seize your prize ! 

Hamlet. Thou comest, monster, here thyself to 

sacrifice ! 
Behold this urn ! 

Claudius. What then ? 

Hamlet. "Within there lie 

The ashes of thy king. Thou, his assassin! 

Claudius. I ' 

Hamlet. Yes, thou, barbarian ! Prepare thy 
thoughts to die. 

The Unities arc too proper in behaviour to 
state distinctly that Hamlet stabs Claudius, but 
" he draws a cfagger," and we arc left to imagine 
the use he makes of it when we read imme- 
diately afterwards, " Exit Voltimand with the 
body of Claudius ; surrounded by Polonius and 
some others of the conspirators." Gertrude, 
the queen-mother, unable to support the sense 
of her crime, and the degradation of its dis- 
covery, kills herself; and Hamlet, after a suit- 
able expression of grief at her loss, concludes 
the play with the following tag : 
Within this fatal hall deprived of all my line, 
My cup of grief is tiiH ; irv virtue still is mine. 
I still am mun an:' King, rosr.tved by Him on high, 
I'll live to suffer dlill, aud so u;> more than die. 

20 [October 13, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Whether this is the Hamlet intended by 
Shakespeare is not the question ; it is doubtless 
the Hamlet of the Unities, executed by a very 
respectable hand. Our lively Brussels editor 
cannot constrain his rapture : 

Who can speak of the beautiful productions with 
which Ducis has enriched our stage, without the 
names of Sophocles and Shakespeare being brought 
"back to his memory I had almost said, to his grati- 

How strange, then, that any reference to the 
works of Sophocles and Shakespeare should fail 
to bring betore the " mind's eye" the name of 
Duels ! 


IT is the morning of that notable Sunday, 
waiting on the threshold of the week called 
Holy, when the sun is glinting through the 
dome windows of the grand mosque, and the 
children of Rome are gathered within the walls. 
The music is swelling high, and the white 
waves ecclesiastical have been frothing and 
eddying backwards r and forwards light as spray. 
TTigures drift by mistily for hours, and the chief 
priest sits and distributes whole fields of the 
wheat-coloured branches. There was a world 
of poesy abroad that day, and I could almost, 
have wished that sweet vision to repeat itself 
over and over again, were it not that I am being 
drawn aside, and almost troubled uneasily by the 
disturbing of a Face ! 

I have been conscious of it from the very 
beginning. Travelling lightly down those 
ranks of features ecclesiastic ranged in lines 
about that amphitheatre physiognomies old and 
worn, and stern and soft, mundane and de- 
votional, listless and absorbed I am stopped 
irresistibly at that one Face, and pass it by 
doubtfully. By-and-by my eye has wandered 
back, searching for the Face restlessly, and so I 
return again and again, drawn by some curious 
unaccountable fascination. A face not to be 
passed by one not bold or obtrusive, rather 
shrinking and retiring, and yet standing out 
from its face-company, which become only so 
many poor subservient foils a face of potential 
mark, that lives, that thinks, that works, that 
can play at human chess, dulling the others 
into pure bucolical expression. Such a face, if 
met m the street, you must go back, and by 
some artifice meet again, or dog home. And 
this is the manner of it, for it is close by me, 
and I can almost lay my hand upon its ermined 
shoulder : a leaf from an old vellum missal, a 
fine ivory yellow, firm features, all marked and 
massive, yet not large; hair richly black, and 
strong, and wavy, yet not long, brought out 
with superb effect by that dash of bright scarlet 
skull-cap ! Rembrandt would have rubbed 
that " accident" in frantically, with great flakes 
and welts with his thumb, perhaps. It would 
have been his darling effect. Forehead in 
smooth knolls ; nose firm and substantial, yet 
clearly cut. From two dark caves shoot and 

glance Spanish eyes, fierce, full of flashing 
light. How many women have envied them to 
the Face ! how many hearts have they made to 
shrink and tremble ! And the mouth 

Now does that coarse and terrible portrait 
of Voltaire the younger's ferocious handling 
intrude itself ! And, without such hint, had I 
not presentiment of this from the beginning ? 
has it not been hanging over me with a dim 
foreshadowing that mind and power were within 
that small circle that the Anax king, the 
Can-ning man of Prophet Carlyle, was at hand 
that with all the fantoccini round, playing out 
their parts, here was the figure, so still and im- 
passive, that could move the wires and work the 
machinery ? But the mouth 

Not quite that " bouche de brigand," M. Ed- 
mond; give me leave, in this humble way of 
mine, to interpret that feature. A long bar 
drawn down, but tortured with an eternal bitter- 
ness in the palate. Rue-leaves are being always 
on his tongue ; sour lozenges are being 
moistened there perpetually ; and so it now 
takes a shape of sad contempt, almost disgust. 
That sour smile lets me see his teeth, superb, 
white as a negro's ! A mouth of infinite play 
and power, that can smile sweetly and contract, 
and look cold, and kill. How the face shifts 
and plays ! A stooped Brother of the Seventy 
is beside him, shrunken and bent, and to him 
he whispers. Brightly flash the famous jet 
eyes, and the sweetest, softest smile, break- 
ing through rue-leaves and ipecacuanha, has 
warmed the stooped brother's heart. No bri- 
gand's mouth, I say again, M. Edmond. Yet 
it is gone, faster than a cloud reflected in a 
field of corn, and here are rue-leaves again. 
As the glitter and colour of the pageant pro- 
ceeds, the vellum face now moves to the right 
or to the left, following the stages with a sort of 
tranquil interest. Now are the overhanging 
crags of eyebrows lifted, wrinkling the smooth 
forehead, and the thick lip corners drawn down 
with a spasm of repugnance some rue-leaf 
memory has occurred to him ; now are the eyes 
cast down demurely, and he looks a simple 
priest, a modest village curate. 

And presently, when that twisting of the 
cord of the gold and purple strands sets in, and 
the vellum cheeks, being of such consideration, 
must go up second in order to receive its wheat- 
coloured palm, and I look with an absorbing in- 
terest to see it in this new function, there rises a 
general flutter and light buzzing of well-known 
name, with a ring of silver in it, as the small figure, 
modest, unobtrusive as a monk, almost shrink- 
ing, but with the jet eyes glistening and roving 
like a snake's, moves forward witli a stiff, quiet 
walk, and hands in prayerful attitude peeping 
from under the ermine cape. Does that modest 
monk from the country sucli he must be sus- 
pect that every eye follows his steps ? Now he 
has knelt at his prince's knees, and turns round 
freighted with his tall palm-staff, all curled, and 
flowered, and taller than he is. He is overcome 
by the honour, and helpless and irresolute, and 
with the rue-leaf flavour distilling with extra 



[October 13, !0.] 21 

bitterness, picks his way slowly down the steps, 
holding that, yellow wand of liis away from him 
with two fingers. Long shall I recollect the 
helpless, timid look with which, as he sits 
down, he tries to adjust tlie long and incon- 
venient emblem he has brought back with him ; 
and I translate that sour pout upon the sour 
mouth into " What do I with this unmanage- 
able toy P" " Que diable fais-je dans cctte 
galere !" And so he presently fades out, being 
drifted awav in the ranks of the snowy figures. 
But I take nome with me the impassive vellum 
cheeks, the close-grained face cut out of solid 
ivory. It walks with me all day long. It 
tempts me back to it with overpowering in- 
terest. I feel that there is a world of mystery 
working ever so deep beneath those cheeks. 

Rolls away now the dark cloud that overhangs 
that week the sad and lugubrious succession of 
commemorative offices ; the dismal wailing, most 
musical but most bald and austere ; the flaring 
of yellow torches, and flitting of indistinct 
figures in the half-darkness, and the glorious 
Easter Day has flashed out, triumphant and 
jubilant, with ringing of bells, and fuming in- 
cense, and riotous organ music, and figures in 
sparkling silver and scarlet, and other cheerful 
tones, bathed in a dazzling sunlight. 

As humanity, crowded very densely be- 
fore me, is rent asunder periodically, I catch 
glimpses of that picturesque function in all 
its stages, of the silver-white figures, seen 
mistily through incense clouds, now clustered on 
the steps, now scattered, now flitting past like 
spirits to be suddenly shut out by a heave of the 
dense humanity. Ihen do I hear the gospel 
chanted in Greek, according to the quaint tra- 
dition, and then, humanity parting suddenly, I 
see through the cloud a small train glide 
by a figure, snow white and sparkling in 
sheen, whom I sem to know, and start as I re- 

The vellum cheeks, the ivory yellow face 
a?ain, floating through this day's solemnity as 
Deacon. Deacon in the high high mass ! De- 
sperately do I struggle with perverse humanity 
before me, who let me have but short-lived 
glimpses of that small glittering figure, gliding, 
not walking, through its function with a match- 
K-NS i, r race. But with the day has come a change. 
The vellum face is glorified, is lit up with a soft 
1 1 nmiuiUity. There is the sweetest smile in the 
world on the bar mouth, with not a trace of rue- 
leaves. There is even a soft melancholy, which 
draws you with an irresistible fascination. It 
looks holy, it looks resigned, and even perse- 
cuted. No one, Romans will tell you, takes his 
part in this function so magnificently. Hush ! 
irreverent humanity in front there ! 'And from 
out of a dazzling mystery of lights, priests, 
acolytes, and fuming incense, rises a soft, sweet 
voice, very clear aud melodious, the cardinal 
Deacon chanting the gospel. And by this dutv. 
being brought to face stiffened ana bedizened 
diplomacy, those functionaries garotted in their 
gold lace, look askant at each oilier with a smile 
and almost sneer; and then I see rue-leaves 

back again, with a flash of menace and contempt; 
but all passed away in a second, even as he open* 
the great missal. And so through all the rest 
of the ways and windings of the ceremonial, 
tortuous certainly, I see him glide and flit by 
with the same soft tranquillity and matchless 
dignity. I feel that I must know this mysterious 

The lights are gone, the figures have all 
faded away, and the sun has gone down. The 
pageant is over for this year. Only one day 
later, a retiring priest, who would not harm a 
fly, tells how he has that morning, wandering 
among the galleries in the "Vatican, lost his 
way ; and how, of a sudden, fierce sbirri came 
sweeping along, precursors as it were, clearing 
from the road all dangerous things all men or 
women in fact. For he is coming, the vellum- 
cheeked, passing from the Pope's chambers to 
his own. Back, intruders ! disguised assassins, 
as ye may prove to be. So priest is hustled 
away to a corner anywhere, with much suspicion 
and violence, while presently passes by swiftly 
the black short figure, dark and terrible, and is 
gone in an instant. Is not here a new element, 
a new part in the piece ? Vellum-cheeked, with 
Damocles's sword shining over his head. It adds 
a deeper fascination to that picture. Again t 
whisper to myself, " I must see, and know, and 
speak with him." 

One night, passing late under our modest 
archway, I find a state of general illumination 
and festivity, wholly abnormal and foreign to 
the known habits of the host. There is a flush 
and hum of expectation, and men look round 
corners and convenient places with a sense as 
of some awful event now at hand and about to 
burst. Grand-Ducal Calmuck disguised, now 
in resplendent livery, is seen afar off at the top 
of the marble flight, waiting tranquilly. Host 
now surely demented, and with a wild look in 
his eyes I had not noticed before, brushes by me 
without speech, still holding his head between his 
hands. I can see before many hours he will be 
ripe for the waistcoat that is not crooked. 'In- 
formation being hopeless from such a quarter, an 
intelligent menial lets me know that " II Car- 
dinale" is expected to visit the grand-ducal im- 
mensities now residing at the hotel ; and know- 
ing that to all intents and purposes there is 
but one definite practical cardinal spoken of in 
the city, I can guess to whom this points. 

The vellum-cheeked again ! Thus brought on 
the stage with this mysterious designation 
the cardinal, the man, the can-rung man. All 
things fit harmoniously with his popular attri- 
butes. I have heard him talked of with 'bated 
breath as plain HE ! " What will HE say ? what 
will HE do ?" falls on my ear at street-corners, 
as two purple raonsignori glide past. Bogueyism 
still in the ascendant ! and in excellent keeping 
is this nightly flight through the shadows trom 
the three little windows high in the Vatican. 
Who rides by night? the great mystery -man 
and vampire cardinal, as he is known in popular 

22 [October 13, 160.] 


[Conducted by 

Roman Volks'-lore. It is but rational to hope 
that he will come in preternatural plumage, and 
flit by me, as I stand on the bottom step of my 
marble flight of stairs (mine by temporary use), 
and wait for him anxiously. 

Clatter of carriages and hoofs growing more 
and more obstreperous as they draw near but 
merely passing on with a flash of lamps into the 
night excite only empty alarms and a justifi- 
able resentment. For one poor sufferer, the 
suspense must be horrible. How many times 
that night did the brain of demented host topple 
on the verge of lunacy ? But hark ! Clatter 
again of carnage and hoofs, but this time of a 
stately solemn order : hoofs tramping it solemnly, 
as is only befitting the Barclay and Perkins ani- 
mals that draw princes of the Church. As the 
great flaming red berline comes reeling and 
heaving up, and its one eye pours a flood 
of light into the arch, the three pantomimic 
footmen in the comic cocked-hats and flowing 
beadles' cloaks, are on the ground in an instant, 
discharging the door and steps with a succession 
of bangs : instantly opens little folding-door at 
the top of marble flight, disclosing illuminated 
chambers with disguised Calmucks, artfully made 
up in florid livery, seen flitting in the light. 
Descends now a dark-robed Maggiordomo (he 
might have been a notary lent from the Opera) 
with a pair of wax candles ready lighted, and 
lurks round the corner until the fitting moment. 
Hush ! he comes descending lightly from his 
great flame - coloured berline. Emerge now 
from ambush, notary from L'Elisir d'Amore, 
with thy candles, and make as though you would 
kiss the dust. 

The light being suspended overhead and cast- 
ing spasmodic shadows, it is a positive Rem- 
brandt figure that walks by me so swiftly, as 
though it were trampling roughshod over ob- 
stacles. The ivory face shining out yellowly, 
the eyes, the famous eyes like coals, at the bot- 
tom of their caverns, the mouth compressed and 
almost insolent. He is dark, all dark to-night ; 
a carravaggio figure rubbed in with chalk and 
charcoal. Black-robed, save as to the neat little 
scarlet buttons and scarlet stockings peeping 
out. I think with wonder of the soft, gentle, 
white-robed ascetic, seen but yesterday amid 
floating clouds of incense, and crucifixes, and 
lighted tapers, attended with dreamy notions of 
a day not far distant when I shall sing, " Sancte 
Autonelli, ora pronobis !" and, presto ! he walks 
by, roughly tramping on imaginary rebellious 
necks, and with a scornful face still not ap- 

Soachiug to that "bouche de brigand" of yours, 
. Edmond : to-night it is II Cardinale Segre- 
tario, H.E. the Cardinal Secretary of State! 
yesterday we were but a poor holy man anc 
simple deacon. 

As I go out again into the night and see 
the suspicious errandless figures hovering about 
the flame-coloured coach, who have the look 
indefinable of disguised police, and the lounging 
gendarmes hanging about, striving to appeal 
purposeless too, and then look up to the brightly 
illuminated window where there are Grand- 

Ducal shadows flitting past, and where "He" 
s sitting next her highness, rippling off most 
sweet and silvery Irench, I think what a 
wretched sinking heart must shrink and wither 
away behind those cardinal's robes ! What sort 
of a grisly private skeleton has he to come home 
o and find sitting in those Vatican chambers ? 
or who indeed may travel abroad with him on 
state occasions and triumphs, standing by his 
ear on the wheel of the flame-coloured coach, to 
whisper, not "Remember that thou art but 
nan !" but this, "Remember thou aii the most 
lated man in Rome! Remember that tliia 
iate is savage, furious, and to be sated with 
?lood only : at the first sign of revolution, wild, 
Dlear-eyed sans-culottes will make straight for 
hat chamber of the three windows, frantic wo- 
men rending thee limb from limb, men bearing 
hy head upon a pole !" That is something to 
hink on at the dead hours of the night. 

I go out into thoroughfares and by-ways, pur- 
;ued by the strangest craving to hunt to earth 
;his mysterious character ; I gather opinions from 
various ranks, and find a curious unanimity at 
oest a certain doubtfulness. There is no quarter. 
Every man's hand is armed with a rough stone, 
flung on the first invitation. It is Aunt Sally in 
purple ; and the sticks come flying fast and thick. 

Arid yet this curious fact remains. Bogie is 
impalpable ! Gentle and simple join in the hue 
and cry, but are unable to account for this sin- 
gular antipathy. I grow weary of putting to 
them the question, " What wrong hath this man 
done that you must so persecute him ?" Stimu- 
lated by opposition, I determine to do battle 
with the spectre. I actually feel it incumbent 
to issue a sort of " royal commission" directed 
to myself, to collect evidence and report upon 
the facts. And your special commissioner does 
hereby respectfully submit the following report, 
which is in a manner no report : 

There was the special cabman, with a great 
brushy beard, and a gruff voice, and a cap that 
swelled and overflowed after the manner of a 
turban, with a general Turkish flavour about 
him, to whom I was at first attracted by the 
royal Ottoman fashion in which he was having 
his boots cleaned as he sat upon his box. The 
special Turco-cabmau being skilfully quickened 
by artful allusion to the unprecedentedly high 
quotation of oats, and the general indisposition 
to enjoy carriage exercise, lashes his horses 
vindictively. His horses start away with a 
bound. " He has done it," special cabman re- 
marks, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. 
" 'Tis all his work. See you this, signer P Last 
year, did not every gentle stranger, if lie only 
wished to cross the street, send for a vettura and 
do the thing in a princely manner? Whose 
work, I say, is this ?" (emphasised by a ferocious 
crack of his whip). " A-r-r-r ! An-to-NEL-li's !" 
(with a savage stress on the third syllable). 
Special cabman will not bear pressing as to the 
immediate connexion considered in the relation 
of cause and effect between this wicked minister 
and the marked disinclination of tourists to 
eujoy carriage exercise. He would plainly 


[October 13, I860.] 23 

concur in that famous solution of all the wrecks 
on (loodwin Sands, mid h;ive heartily con- 
demned IVnlrnlrii steeple; but, seeing that he 
has not convinced, Ottoman cabman hoarsely 
intimates that he has an argument in his quiver 
uhich is, so to speak, a perfect clincher it is 
only too plain, the thing is not worth discussion 
all the world knows it : Is NOT HIS BROTHER 
GOVERNOR OF THE BANK. ? A smile of triumph, 
with an ominous shake of the brushy beard, and 
he has lashed his horses into a furious gallop. 
No need of argument after that ! He retires 
crowned from the discussion after that ! 

Burgher behind his counter, delving, a per- 
fect navvy, among his trays and shelves of 
commodities below, upon the mysterious bogie 
name being mentioned to him, is brought up 
suddenly in his mining, and rests, as it were, 
upon his spade. " An-to-NEL-li," he repeats, 
softly (with the popular stress on third syllable). 
" II Cardinale ! an, to be sure, yes !" The 
"eminentissimo" is the bane of the country. 
From those three Vatican windows descends 
a blight worse than the aria caltiva, the bad 
air. " "What has he done ? what has he done ? 
what has he done P" Burgher folding his 
arms, pauses, then doubtfully goes on: "The 
noble strangers will not buy ; they cheapen our 
wares ; the harvests, signer, are getting worse 
every year; the ground is parched with ex- 
cessive drought." " But," it is mildly objected, 
" this is only Tenterden steeple again. Is this 
poor baited eminentissimo one of the genii, or a 
familiar of the Great Nameless?" "Pah!" 
exclaims burgher, dropping his voice, "IL suo 


Causa finita est ! 

" The day HE falls," another trading burgher 
tells me, " all Rome will illuminate ! The Santo 
Padre himself is aweary of him." Comes then 
impatient rejoinder, " What wrong has he 
done? Has he robbed the state?" "Well, 
no. But have you not heard ? His brother is 
Governor of the Bank." " Has he worked homi- 
cide, murder, and the rest of it ?" " No. But 
his brother," &c. &c. It revolves in that eternal 

It was the misfortune of our Cardinal Secre- 
tary of State to have first seen the light close to 
the notoriously operatic locality of Terracina. It 
is set out conspicuously in the almanacks of the 
polite circles. Hence, I suspect as I muse about 
him, that fitting on of the bouche de brigand ; 
hence the pleasant legends of the early life of 
young Giacomo Antonelli, reared in all the excite- 
ment of bandit life, and playfully taking part as 
an outsider, dressed in a miniature little hat and 
ribbons, and jacket of the regulation pattern, 
while his sire and other friends stopped and 
rifled the well-lined diligence. 

Let us think of this, too. There are his 
scarlet brethren, overshadowed by the broad 
hat, hedging him round in a circle and watching 
him distrustfully. There is a strong party 
among the seventy who would thrust him gently 

from the wheel, holding that his bad seaman- 
ship has endangered the heavy temporal tender 
which sails behind the spiritual bark of Saint 
Peter. But they are powerless, single or in com- 
bination. " If he fall, not one of us is fit to step 
into his place." The days of ambitions cardinal- 
ships are gone by, and these are mostly gentle, 
pious well-meaning men, of little capability 
beyond their ecclesiastical lasts. Such as look 
on from afar off, think of the florid English 
cardinal, sitting in the ministerial chair, and 
signing decrees, but flounder sadly in such 
speculation. He could not battle down the 
tide of nationalities. Italy for the Italians is as 
loud and persistent as was ever Ireland for the 
Irish. He has no "party" among the seventy. 
He will never sign himself " Nic. Card. Wise- 
man, Segretario. 

Amid all this tempest of obloquy, this din of 
evil tongues, enough to chill the most iron 
heart, the vellum-cheeked has a sort of comfort- 
ing bower to withdraw into a circle of the 
firmest and fastest friends man ever possessed. 
Sheltered round by these protecting trees, for him 
the storms no longer blow ; he sits in the shade 
and forgets that he has enemies. Cheerfully he 
sits among them, and says, with a smile and with 
a half sigh, that he is the best abused man in 
Europe ! He gives way to a childlike gaiety. It 
is Cato at Tusculum over again. He is full of 
a sweet merriment the best abused man in 
Europe. He brings out his marbles and curiosi- 
ties, and delivers a sportive lecture on their 
beauties. He gives dinner parties, where he is 
the smooth, graceful host. He dines out him- 
self, and is a witty talker. 

No wonder, then, when gigantic friend strides 
in cheerily one morning, and bids me arise, for 
he has arranged a visit to the mysterious Cardi- 
nal, that I spring up excitedly. He had seen, had 
gigantic friend, the Secretary's secretary, and 
all things had been made straight and smooth. 

Not long is our Roman chariot scouring the 
narrow line of streets between the English pale 
and the towering ochre-coloured palace. 

Flight after flight of marble stair. Broad, 
sufficient for a dozen men to march up abreast, 
each flight in itself so high that, after the third 
or so is surmounted, you begin to pause and 
gasp. It becomes a grand Mont Blanc ascent, 
with eternal marble for eternal snows. And 
now the Grands Mulcts come in sight ; we could 
go yet higher, but we pass, instead, into this 
ante-chamber, where are the servants sitting, 
who rise up and do us homage. Pass on, if it so 
please you, signori, into the next chamber. 

A long low chamber, positively brilliant with 
windows, whence is a matchless view ; a pretty 
chamber, with rich green and gold panelling, 
and furnished with many elegancies. Furnishca, 
too, with visitors patients it maybe, or clients 
sitting round, leaning on the tops of sticks or 
umbrellas. A curious miscellany, suggesting 
forcibly the dismal company that wait in a den- 
tist's ante-chamber. Most are of the humbler 
order, one being clearly agricultural, on leave, 
as it were, from "VVilkie's famous Rent Day. 


[October 13, 1860.J 

How did the bucolic farmer waiting liis turn, 
sucking his stick top, with his hat on the ground 
between, his knees, get into an Eternal City ? 
Here, he unquestionably is. A pale widow-look- 
ing woman, in rusty black, sitting there, sad 
and patient ; what can she have to trouble a 
Cardinal Secretary with ? A trader, and a soldier. 
These are the patients waiting outside the 

A little silver bell has tinkled, and Secretary's 
secretary skims away like a bird. Gigantic friend 
and I feel curious sensation, and dread the ap- 
palling " Now, sir!" of the dentist's familiar. 

Reappears, presently, Secretary's secretary, 
with much mystery, making passes and signifi- 
cant gestures. Agriculturist seeing us moving 
forward in obedience to this Od force, enters a 
faint protest by rising from his chair ; but sub- 
sides again into the Rent Day, feeling that 
he is powerless. We enter a little chamber, 
and the door is softly closed behind us : a 
dainty little cabinet of a place, panelled in green 
and gold also, but whose appointments and 
appropriate furniture are all absorbed into the 
small dark figure sitting at the table. With mag- 
nificent effect, stands out the firm cleanly cut 
face, no longer vellum-cheeked in the broad light 
rushing in, in floods, at the window, and rising 
on billows, as it were, of flowing papers, peti- 
tions, and documents official, unrolled and tossed 
lightly before him. So clear and brilliant is it 
flung out by that deep richly green background 
and scarlet carpet, that I think the great mys- 
tery cardinal must have studied the fine old 
portrait colouring, and artfully selected this 
bold combination. As he rises out of that do- 
cumental foam, and, with a smile the most over- 
poweringly gracious and fascinating welcomes his 
two visitors, the hair seems to me at this closer 
view yet more richly luxuriant, more classically 
waving, and the eye caverns the darkest and 
most piercing, that man can conceive. In 
that vividly scarlet skull-cap, and dark cloth 
robe with a little cape, edged with a fine scarlet 
line and dotted with minute scarlet buttons, he 
becomes to me the most mysterious awe-inspir- 
ing figure true, genuine secretary of state. 
Sweet phrases come rolling thickly over thftse 
lips which the profane wit would christen " bri- 
gand," and it seems to me the most melodious 
voice I ever heard. 

Now, two chairs are drawn close to the docu- 
mental table, and H.E. the Cardinal Secre- 
tary, with his chair thrown back a little, reels 
forth discourse most musical, at times quaintly 
bilingual, running fitfully from Italian into 
French. I steal a glance round the room and 
wonder at its small size ; but then recollect that 
this is a cabinet a minister's boudoir. A most 
coquettish and artistic disorder prevails in it, too, 
and there are rare prints hung on the green wall ; 
the furniture is of a quaint pattern; and an ancient 
altar triptich of Byzantine pattern, leans against 
a chair. A pretty little open-work screen, the 

carving of which is a speciality in certain 
Italian provinces, stands erect upon the table 
and fences off the glare. Even as he sits, most 
graceful is the attitude and effect : his black 
robe of the finest cloth, falling in judicious 
folds, and the neatest cleanest-shaped ankle 
cased in a bright scarlet stocking without crease 
or seam, peeping out under the skirt daintily 
looped up. Gigantesque friend alludes to a cer- 
tain friendship as dating from school-days. "Ah," 
sighs softly the Cardinal, with a plaintive regret, 
" ce sont quelquefois les connaissances les plus 
agreables !" And I think for the moment that 
I have heard a Rochefoucauld maxim of singular 
point and novelty. Gigantesque friend, know- 
ing that his eminence is curious in bric-a- 
brac and art relics, has ventured to bring 
some rare engraved signet rings from his well- 
known collection, for H.E.'s inspection. The 
dark eyes lighten he is virtuoso himself and 
yonder, in those inner chambers, keeps an unique 
collection of gems and marbles. Another day 
he will show us these treasures, with a trifle in 
the way of a picture or two ; but alas ! are 
there not the clients outside, waiting to devour 
him ? These art enemies must have their 
prey; but the ring is curious most curious 
and he smiles over it with love, and peers 
into it with the piercing eyes, then fetches 
out from somewhere under the great flood 
of lawyers' briefs, a great magnifier, and 
studies it with that aid. There is yet an- 
other signet wondrously wrought as to frame- 
work, in the Cellini manner, but unhappily 
lacking the stone. Eminency suddenly be- 
thinks him of a remedy, and, groping in a little 
cabinet drawer, fetches forth a little casket, and 
out of the little casket picks, with neat fingers, 
one special green gem, which he has had in his 
mind, but which will not suit. He has fallen 
into a bric-a-brac dream ; but presently a cloud 
gathers about the caverns, and he wakes. The 
clients press on him in a practical reality. The 
bugbear Business comes in, roughly tramping 
down these delicate fancies. So gigantesque 
friend rises, and chairs are pushed away, and 
Eminency rises, and the black shiny cloth falls 
gracefully and hides the neat scarlet ankle. 
Sweetest and most gracious dismissal, the shining 
teeth flash upon us, little bell rings softly, 
and Cardinal Secretary of State fades into his 
deep green background. It is bucolic's turn 
at last. 

On the 15th of October will be published, price 
5s. Gd., bound in cloth, 




Containing from Xos. 51 to 76, both inclusive. 

Volumes the First and Second are to be had of all 

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I GREW impatient to leave Ostend : every asso- 
ciation connected with the place was unpleasant. 
I hope I am not unjust in my estimate of it. I 
sincerely desire to be neither unjust to men nor 
cities, but I thought it vulgar and common-place. 
I know it is hard tor a watering-place to be other- 
wise ; there is something essentially low in the 
green-baize and bathing-house existence in that 
semi-nude sociality, begun on the sands and car- 
ried out into deep water, which I cannot abide. 
I abhor, besides, a lounging population in fancy 
toilets, a procession of donkeys in scarlet trap- 
pings, elderly gentlemen with pocket-telescopes, 
;uid tierce old ladies with camp-stools. The 
\voni-out, debauchees come to recruit for another 
season of turtle and whitebait ; the half-faded 
victims of twenty polkas per night, the tiresome 
politician, pale from a long session, all fiercely 
bent on fresh diet and sea-breezes, are perfect 
antipathies to me, and I would rather seek com- 
panionship in a Tyrol village than amidst these 
wounded and missing of a London season. 

With all this, I wanted to get away from the 
vicinity of the Jopplyns they were positively 
odious to me. Is not the man who holds in his 
keeping one scrap of your handwriting which 
displays you in a light of absurdity, far more 
your enemy than the holder of your protested 
bill ? I own I think so. Debt is a very human 
weakness ; like disease, it attacks the best and 
the noblest amongst us. You may pity the 
fellow that cannot meet that acceptance, you 
may be, sorry for the anxiety it occasions him, 
the fruitless running here and there, the protes- 
tations, promises, and even lies, he goes through, 
but no sense of ludicrous scorn mingles with 
your compassion, none of that contemptuous 
laughter with which you read a copy of absurd 
verses or a maudlin love-letter. Imagine the 
difference of tone in him who says : " That's an 
old bill of poor Potts's ; he'll never pay it now, 
and I'm sure I'll never ask him." Or, "Just 
read those lines ; would you believe that any 
creature out of Hanwell could descend to such 
miserable drivel as that ? It was one Potts who 
wrote it." 

I wonder could I obtain my manuscript from 
Jopplyn before 1 started P What pretext could I 
adduce for the request ? While I thus pondered, 

packed up my few wearables in my knapsack 
and prepared for the road. They were, indeed, 
a very scanty supply, and painfully suggested to 
my mind the estimate that waiters and hotel 
porters must form of their owner. " Cruel 
world," muttered I, " whose maxim is, ' By their 
outsides shall ye judge them.' Had I arrived here 
with a travelling-carriage and a ' fourgon,' what 
respect and deference had awaited me ! how 
courteous the landlord, how obliging the head 
waiter ! Twenty attentions which could not be 
charged for in the bill had been shown me, and 
even had I, in superb dignity, declined to descend 
from my carriage while the post-horses were 
being harnessed, a levee of respectful flunkeys 
would have awaited my orders. I have no 
doubt but there must be something very intoxi- 
cating in all this homage. The smoke of the 
hecatombs must have affected Jove as a sort of 
chloroform, or else he would never have sat there 
sniffing them for centuries. Are you ever des- 
tined to experience these sensations, Potts ? Is 
there a time coming when anxious ears will strain 
to catch your words, and eyes watch eagerly for 
your slightest gestures ? If such an era should 
ever come it will be a great one for the masses of 
mankind, and an evil day for snobbery. Such a 
lesson as I will read the world on humility in 
high places, such an example will I give of one 
elevated, but uncorrupted, by fortune. 

" Let the carriage come to the door," said I, 
closing my eyes, as I sank into my chair in 
reverie. " Tell my people to prepare the entire 
of the Hotel de Belle Vue for my arrival, and my 
own cook to preside in the kitchen." 

" Is this to go by the omnibus ?" said the 
waiter, suddenly, on entering my room in haste. 
He pointed to my humble knapsack. 

"Yes," said I, in deep confusion "yes, that's 
my luggage at least, all that I have here at this 
moment. Where is the bill ? Very moderate 
indeed," muttered I, in a tone of approval. " I 
will take care to recommend your house ; attend- 
ance prompt, and the wines excellent." 

" Monsieur is complimentary," said the fellow, 
with a grin; "he only experimented upon a 
' small Beaune' at one-twenty the bottle." 

I scowled at him, and he shrank again. 

" And this ' objet' is also monsieur's," said he, 
taking up a small white canvas bag which was 
enclosed in my railroad wrapper. 

" What is it ?" cried I, taking it up. I al- 
most fell back as I saw that it was one of the 



26 [October 20, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

despatch bags of the Foreign-office, which in my 
hasty departure from the Dover train I had ac- 
cidentally carried off with me. There it was, 
addressed to "Sir Shalley Doubleton, H.M.'s 
Envoy and Minister at Hesse-Kalbbratenstadt, 
by the Hon. Grey Buller, Attache," &c. 

Here was not alone what might be construed 
into a theft, but what it was well possible might 
comprise one of the gravest offences against 
the law : it might be high treason itself ! Who 
would ever credit my story, coupled as it was 
with the fact of my secret escape from the 
carriage my precipitate entrance into the first 
place I could find, not to speak of the privacy 
I observed by not mixing with the passengers 
in the mail packet, but keeping myself estranged 
from all observation in the captain's cabin? Here, 
too, was the secret of the skipper's politeness 
to me : he saw the bag, and believed me to be 
a Foreign-office messenger, and this was his 
meaning, as he said, " I can answer for him he 
can't delay much here." Yes; this was the 
entire mystification by which I obtained his 
favour, his politeness, and his protection. What 
was to be done in this exigency ? Had the waiter 
not seen the bag, and with the instincts of his 
craft calmly perused the address on it, I be- 
lieve, nay, I am quite convinced, I should have 
burned it and its contents on the spot. The 
thought of his evidence against me in the event 
of a discovery, however, entirely routed this 
notion, and, after a brief consideration, I re- 
solved to convey the bag to its destination, and 
trump up the most plausible explanation I could 
of the way it came into my possession. His 
excellency, I reasoned, will doubtless be too de- 
lighted to receive his despatches to inquire very 
minutely as to the means by which they were 
recovered, nor is it quite impossible that he may 
feel bound to mark my zeal tor the public service 
by some token of recognition. This was a 
pleasant turn to give to my thoughts, and I 
took it with all the avidity of my peculiar tempe- 
rament. "Yes," thought I, "it is just out of 
trivial incidents like this a man's fortune is made 
in life. For one man who mounts to great- 
ness by the great entrance and the state stair- 
case, ten thousand slip in by ' la petite Porte. 3 
It is, in fact, only by these chances that obscure 
genius obtains acknowledgment. How, for 
example, should this great diplomatist know 
Potts if some accident should not throw them 
together ? Raleigh flung his laced jacket in a 
puddle, and for nis reward he got a proud 
Queen's favour. A village apothecary had the 
good fortune to be visiting the state apartments 
at the Pavilion when George the Fourth was 
seized with a fit ; he bled him, brought him back 
to consciousness, and made him laugh by his 
genial and quaint humour. The king took a 
fancy to him, named him his physician, and 
made his fortune. I have often heard it re- 
marked by men who have seen much of life, that 
nobody, not one, goes through the world with- 
out two or three such opportunities presenting 
themselves. The careless, the indolent, the un- 
observant, and the idle, either fail to remark, or 

are too slow to profit by them. The sharp fellows, 
on the contrary, see in such incidents all that 
they need to lead them to success. Into which 
of _ these categories you are to enter, Potts, let 
this incident decide." 

Having by a reference to my John Murray as- 
certained the whereabouts of the capital of 
Hesse-Kalbbratenstadt, I took my place at once 
on the rail for Cologne, reading myself up on 
its beauty and its belongings as I went. There 
is, however, such a dreary sameness in these 
small ducal states, that I am ashamed to say 
how little I gleaned of anything distinctive in 
the case before me. The reigning sovereign 
was of course married to a grand-duchess of 
Russia, and he lived at a country seat called 
Ludwig's Lust, or Carl's Lust, as it might be, 
" took little interest in politics" how should he ? 
and " passed much of his time in mechanical 
pursuits, in which he had attained considerable 
proficiency ;" in other words, he was a middle- 
aged gentleman, fond of his pipe, and with a 
taste for carpentry. Some sort of connexion 
with our own royal family had been the pretext 
for having a resident minister at his court, 
though what he was to do when he was there 
seemed not so easy to say. Even John, glorious 
John, was puzzled how to make a respectable 
half-page out of his capital, though there was 
a dome in the Byzantine style, with an altar- 
piece by Peter von Grys, the angels in the 
corner being added afterwards by Hans Liiders ; 
and there was a Hof Theatre, and an excellent 
inn, the " Schwein," by Kramm, where the sau- 
sages of home manufacture were highly recom- 
mendable, no less than a table wine of the host's 
vineyard, called " Magenschmerzer," and which, 
Murray adds, would doubtless, if known, find 
many admirers in England ; and lastly, but far 
from leastly, there was a Musik Garten, where 
popular pieces were performed very finely by an 
excellent German band, and to which promenade 
all the fashion of the capital nightly resorted. 

I give you all these details, respected reader, 
just as I got them in my " Northern Germany," 
and not intending to obtrude any further de- 
scription of my own upon yon ; for who, I would 
ask, could amplify upon his Handbook ? What 
remains to be noted after John has taken the in- 
ventory? has he forgotten a nail or a saint's 
shin-bone? With him for guide, a man may 
feel that he has done his Europe conscientiously ; 
and though it be hard to treasure up all the 
hard names of poets, painters, priests, and 
warriors, it is not worse than botany, and about 
as profitable. 

For the same reason that I have given above, 
I spare my reader all the circumstances of my 
journey, my difficulties about carriage, my em- 
barrassments about steam-boats and cab lares, 
which were all of the order that Brown and 
Jones have experienced, are experiencing, and 
will continue to experience, till the arrival of 
that millenniary period when we shall all con- 
verse in any tongue we please. 

It was at nightfall that I drove into Kalb- 
bratenstadt, my postilion announcing my advent 



[October 20, 18CO.] 

at the gates, and all the way to the Platz where 
tin- inii stood, by a volley of whip-crackings 
which might have announced a grand-duke or a 
priuia donna. Some casements were hastily 
opened as we rumbled along, and the guests of 
a cafe' issued hurriedly into the street to watch 
us, but these demonstrations over, I gained the 
Schwein without further notice, and descended. 
Herr Kramm looked suspiciously at the small 
amount of luggage of the traveller who arrived 
by " extra post," but, like an honest German, 
he was not one to form rash judgments, and so 
he showed me to a comfortable apartment, and 
took my orders for supper in all respectfulness. 
He waited upon me also at my meal, and cave 
me opportunity for conversation. While I ate 
my Carbonade mit Kartoffel-Salad, therefore, I 
learned that, being akeady nine o'clock, it was 
far too late an hour to present myself at the 
English Embassy for so he designated our 
minister's residence ; that at this advanced pe- 
riod of the night there were but tew citizens out 
of their beda : the ducal candle was always ex- 
tinguished at half-past eight, and only roisterers 
and revellers kept it up much later. My first 
surprise over, I own I liked all this. It smacked 
of that simple patriarchal existence I had so long 
yearned after. Let the learned explain it, but 
there is, I assert, something in the early hours 
of a people that guarantee habits of simplicity, 
thrift, and order. It is all very well to say 
that people can be as wicked at eight in the 
evening as at two or three in the morning; 
that crime cares little for the clock, nor does 
vice respect the chronometer ; but does expe- 
rience confirm this, and are not the small hours 
notorious for the smallest moralities ? The 
grand-duke, who is fast asleep at nine, is scarcely 
disturbed by dreams of cruelties to his people. 
The police minister, who takes his bedroom 
candle at the same hour, is seldom harassed 
by devising new schemes of torture for his 
victims. I suffered my host to talk largely 
of his town and its people, and probably such a 
listener rarely presented himself, for he cer- 
tainly improved the occasion. He assured me, 
with a gravity that vouched for the conviction, 
that the capital, though by no means so dear as 
London or Paris, contained much if not all these 
more pretentious cities could boast. There was 
a court, a theatre, a promenade, a public foun- 
tain, and a new gaol, one of the largest in all 
(iermany. Jenny Lind had once sung at the 
opera on her way to Vienna ; and to prove how 
they sympathised in every respect with greater 
centres of population, when the cholera raged at 
Berlin, they, too, lost about four hundred of their 
townsfolk. Lastly, he mentioned, and this boast- 
fully, that thougu neither wanting in organs of 
public opinion, nor men of adequate ability to 
guide them, the Kalbbrateners had never mixed 
themselves up in politics, but proudly main- 
tained that calm and dignified attitude which 
Europe would one day appreciate ; that is, if 
she ever arrived at the crowning knowledge of 
the benefit of letting her differences be decided 
by sortie impartial umpire. 

More than once, as I heard him, I muttered 
to myself, " Potts, thi* is the very spot you have 
sought for ; here is all the tranquil simplicity 
of the village, with the elevated culture of a 
great city. Here are sages and philosophers 
clad in nomespun, Beauty hersell in linsey- 
woolsey. Here there are no vulgar rivalries of 
riches, no contests in fine clothes, no opposing 
armies of yellow plush. Men are great by their 
faculties, not in their flunkeys. How elevated 
must be the tone of their thoughts, the style of 
their conversation, and what a lucky accident 
it was that led you to that goal to which all your 
wishes and hopes have been converging ! For 
how much can a man livea single gentleman 
like myself here in your city?" asked I of 
my host. 

He sat down at this, and filling himself a 
large goblet of my wine the last in the bottle 
he prepared for a lengthy seance. " First of 
all," said he, "how would he wish to live? 
Would he desire to mingle in our best circles, 
equal to any in Europe, to know Herr von 
Krugwitz, and the Gnandige Frau von Stein- 
haltz ?" 

" Well," thought I, " these be fair ambitions." 
And I said, " Yes, both of them." 

" And to be on the list of the court dinners ? 
There are two yearly, one at Easter, the other 
on his highness s birthday, whom may Provi- 
dence long protect !" 

" To this also might he aspire." 

" And to have a stall at the Grand Opera, and 
a carriage to return visits twice in carnival 
time and to live in a handsome quarter, and 
dine every day at our table d'hote here with 
General von Beulwita and the Hofrath von 
Schlaffrichter ? A life like this is costly, a*id 
would scarcely be comprised under two thou- 
sand florins a year." 

How my heart bounded at the notion of re- 
finement, culture, elevated minds, and polished 
habits : " science," indeed, and the " musical 
glasses," all for one hundred and sixty pounds 
per annum, 

" It is not improbable that you will see me 
your guest for many a day to come," said I, as 
I ordered another bottle, and of a more generous 
vintage, to honour the occasion. My host 
offered no opposition to my convivial projects 
nay, he aided them by saying, 

" If you have really an appreciation for some- 
thing super-excellent in wine, and wish to taste 
what Freiligrath calls ' der Deutachen Nectar,' 
I'll go and fetch you a bottle." 

" Bring it by all means," aaid L And away 
he went on his mission. 

"Providence blessed me with two hands," 
said he, as he re-entered the room, " and I have 
brought two flasks of Lieb Heraenthaler." 

There is something very artistic in the way 
your picture-dealer, having brushed away the 
dust iroua a Mieris or a Gerard Dow, places the 
work in a favourite light before you, and then 
stands to watch the effect on your countenance. 
So, too, will your man of rare manuscripts and 
illuminated missals offer to your notice some 

28 [OctoberM, 18CO.] 


[Conducted bjr 

illegible treasure of the fourth century; but 
these are nothing to the mysterious solemnity of 
him who, uncorking a bottle of rare wine, waits 
to note the varying sensations of your first 
enjoyment down to your perfect ecstasy. 

I tried to perform my part of the piece with 
credit: I looked long at the amber-coloured 
liquor in the glass, I sniffed it and smiled ap- 
provingly ; the host smiled too, and said " Ja." 
Not another syllable did he utter, but how ex- 
sive was that "Ja!" "Ja" meant, "You are 
right, Potts, it is the veritable wine of 1764, 
bottled for the HerzogLudwig's marriage ; every 
drop of it is priceless. Mark the odour how it per- 
fumes the air around us ; regard the colour the 
golden hair of Venus can alone rival it ; see how 
the oily globules cling to the glass !" " Ja" meant 
all this, and more. 

As I drank off my glass, I was sorely puzzled 
by the precise expression in which to couch my 
approval ; but he supplied it and said, " Is it not 
Gottlieb ?" and I said it was Gottlieb ; and while 
we finished the two bottles, this solitary phrase 
sufficed for converse between us, "Gottlieb" 
being uttered by each as he drained his glass, 
and Gottlieb being re-echoed by his companion. 

There is great wisdom in reducing our admi- 
ration to a word ; giving, as it were, a cognate 
number to our estimate of anything. Wherever 
we amplify we usually blunder: we employ 
epithets that disagree, or, in even less ques- 
tionable taste, soar into extravagances that 
are absurd. Besides, our moods of highest en- 
joyment are not such as dispose to talkative- 
ness : the ecstasy that is most enthralling is 
self-contained. Who on looking at a glorious 
landscape does not feel the insufferable bathos of 
the descriptive enthusiast beside him? How 
grateful would he own himself if he would be satis- 
fied with one word for his admiration. And if one 
needs this calm repose, this unbroken peace, for 
the enjoyment of scenery, equally is it applicable 
to our appreciation of a curious wine. I have 
no recollection that any further conversation 
passed between us, but I have never ceased, and 
most probably never shall cease, to have a per- 
fect memory of the pleasant ramble of my 
thoughts as I sat there sipping, sipping. I pon- 
dered long over a plan of settling down in this 
place for life, by what means I could realise 
sufficient to live in that elevated sphere the 
host spoke of. If Potts pere I mean my 
father were to learn that I was received in the 
highest circles, admitted to all that was most 
socially exclusive, would he be induced to make 
an adequate provision for me ? He was an am- 
bitious and a worldly man; would he see in 
these beginnings of mine the seeds of future 
greatness ? Fathers, I well knew, are splendidly 
generous to their successful children, and " the 
poor they send empty away." It is so pleasant 
to aid him who does not need assistance, and 
such a hopeless task to be always saving him 
who will be drowned ! 

My first care, therefore, should be to impress 
upon my parent the appropriateness of his con- 
tributing bis share to what already was an ac- 

complished success. "Wishing, as theFrench say, 
to make you a part in my triumph, dear father, 
I write these lines." How I picture him to my 
mind's eye as he reads this, running frantically 
about to his neighbours, and saying, "I have 
got a letter from Algy strange boy but as I 
always foresaw, with great stuff in him, very 
remarkable abilities. See what he has done ! 
struck out a perfect line of his own in life ; just 
the sort of thing genius alone can do. He went 
off from this one morning by way of a day's 
excursion, never returned never wrote. All my 
efforts to trace him were in vain. I advertised, 
and offered rewards, did everything, without suc- 
cess ; and now, after all this long interval, conies 
a letter by this morning's post to tell me that he 
is well, happy, and prosperous. He is settled, 
it appears, in a German capital with a hard name, 
a charming spot, with every accessory of en- 
joyment in it : men of the highest culture, and 
women of most graceful and at tractive manners; 
as he himself writes, ' the elegance of a Parisian 
salon added to the wisdom of the professor's 
cabinet.' Here is Algy living with all that is 
highest in rank and most distinguished in station; 
the favoured guest of the prince, the bosom 
friend of the English minister ; his advice 
sought for, his counsel asked in every difficulty; 
trusted in the most important state offices, and 
taken into the most secret councils of the 
duchy. Though the requirements of his station 
make heavy demands upon his means, very little 
help from me will enable him to maintain a posi- 
tion which a few years more will have consoli- 
dated into a rank recognised throughout Eu- 
rope." Would the flintiest of fathers, would the 
most primitive-rock-hearted of parents resist 
an appeal like this ? It is no hand to rescue 
from the waves is sought, but a little finger to 
help to affluence. "Of course you'll do it, Potts, 
and do it liberally ; the boy is a credit to you. 
He will place your name where you never 
dreamed to see it. What do you mean to settle 
on him ? Above all things, no stinginess ; don't 
disgust him." 

I hear these and such-like on every hand ; 
even the most close-fisted and miserly of our 
acquaintances will be generous of their friend's 
money; and I think I hear the sage remarks 
with which they season advice with touching 
allusions to that well-known ship that was lost 
for want of a small outlay in tar. " Come down 
handsomely, Potts," says a resolute man, who 
has sworn never to pay a sixpence of his son's 
debts. " What better use can we make of our 
hoardings than to render our young people 
happy ?" I don't like the man who says this, 
but I like his sentiments ; and I am much 
pleased when he goes on to remark that " there 
is no sucli good investment as what establishes 
a successful son. Be proud of the boy, Potts, 
and thank your stars that he had a soul above 
senna, and a spirit above sal volatile !" 

As I invent all this play of dialogue for my- 
self, and picture the speakers before me, I conic 
at last to a small peevish little fellow named 
Lynch, a merchant tailor, who lived next door 



[October 10, 1MO.J 29 

to us, and enjoyed much of my father's confi- 
dence. " So, they tell me you Invc heard from 
that runaway of yours, Potts, is it true P What 
face does he put upon his disgraceful conduct ? 
What became of the livery-stable-keeper's horse? 
Did he sell him, or ride him to death ? A bad 
business if he should ever come back again, 
which, of course, he's too wise for. Aud where 
is he now, and what is he at?" 

" You may read his letter, Mr. Lynch," re- 
plies my father ; " lie is one who can speak for 
himself." And Lynch reads and snipers, and 
reads again. I see him as plainly as it he were 
but a yard from me. " F never heard of this 
ducal capital before," he begins, "but I suppose 
k's like the rest of them little obscure dens of 
pretentious poverty, plenty of ceremony, and 
very little to eat. How did he find it out? 
Wliat brought him there ?" 

" You have his letter before you, sir," says 
my parent, proudly. " Algernon Sydney is, I 
imagine, quite competent to explain what relates 
to his own affairs." 

" Oh, perfectly, perfectly ; only that I can't 
really make out how he first came to this place, 
nor what it is that he does there now that he's 
in it." 

My father hastily snatches the letter from his 
hands, and runs his eye rapidly along to catch 
the passage which shall confute the objector 
and cover him with shame and confusion. He 
cannot fiud it at once. " It is this. No, it is on 
this side. Very strange, very singular indeed ; 

but as Algernon must have told me " Alas ! 

no, father, he has not told you, and for the simple 
reason that he does not know it himself, lor 
though I mentioned with becoming pride the 
prominent stations Irishmen now hold in most 
of the great states of Europe, and pointed to 
O'Duunell in Spain, Mac Mahon in Prance, and 
the Field-Marshal Nugent in Austria, I utterly 
forgot to designate the high post occupied by 
Potts in the Duchy of Hesse Kalbbratenstadt. 
To determine what this should be was now of 
imminent importance, and I gave myself up to 
the solution with a degree of intentness and an 
amount of concentration that set me off souud 

Yes, benevolent reader, I will confess it, 
questions of a complicated character have 
always affected me, as the inside of a letter 
seems to have struck Tony Lumpkiu " all 
buzz." I start with the most loyal desire to be 
acute and penetrating ; I set myself to my task 
with as honest a disposition to do my best as 
ever man did ; I say, " Now, Potts, no self-in- 
dulgence, no skulking; here is a knotty pro- 
blem, here is a case for your best faculties in 
their sharpest exercise ;" and if any one come in 
upon me about ten minutes after this resolve, 
he will see a man who could beat Sancho Pauza 
in sleeping ! 

Of course this tendency has often cost me 
dearly ; I have missed appointments, forgotten 
assignations, lost friends through it. My cha- 
racter, too, has suffered, many deeming me in- 
supportably indolent, a sluggard quite unfit for 

any active employment. Others, more mercifully 
hinting at some "cerebral cause," have done me 
equal damage ; but there happily is an obverse on 
the medal, and to this somnolency do I ascribe 
much of the gentleness and all the romance of 
my nature. It is your sleepy man is ever bene- 
volent, he loves ease and quiet for others as for 
himself. What he cultivates is the tranquil 
mood that leads to slumber, and the calm that 
sustains it. The very operations of the mind in 
sleep are broken, incoherent, undeliueated just 
like the waking occupations of an idle man ; they 
are thoughts that cost so little to manufacture 
that he can atford to be lavish of them. And now 
Good night ! 


MANY of the Levitical laws are sanitary 
laws. In the fourteenth chapter of Leviti- 
cus, and beginning at the thirty -third verse, 
we have the signs of leprosy and plague in 
houses described, and means of removing or de- 
stroying such leprosy and plague set forth. The 
description is not more curious than it is true 
of houses in the present day. There are at 
this time in London, and in great Britain gene- 
rally, as also over the whole of the known 
world, sites and houses with subsoils so tainted, 
and the walls of the houses so leprous, plague- 
stricken, and foul, that entire removal of such 
houses, and of the material, is the only safe 
remedy. Some of our hospital surgeons could 
have defined streets, and even houses, from which 
patients, suffering under certain forms of ma- 
lignant diseases, were regularly brought, and 
had been brought, for years. With a destruc- 
tion of such houses tiiere has been a cessation 
of that form of virulence in the particular class 
of disease. "And he shall break down the 
house, the stones of it, and the timber thereof, 
and all the mortar of the house ; and he shall 
carry them forth out of the city, into an unclean 

Examine the cities in the East, and we shall 
find pre-eminent ignorance of Sanitary law, and 
consequent filth, squalor, and human misery, 
disease and premature death. The entire sub- 
soil is a vast mass of putrid and putrefying 
human and animal refuse and ordure. Recently, 
in Calcutta, the workmen employed to excavate 
the trenches for laying gas-pipes died from the 
effects of the noxious gases liberated by breaking 
through the upper oxydised crust of foul deposit, 
the accumulation of years. Sunshine, rain, and 
wind are most powerful disiufectors ; if it were 
not so, the sites of cities and houses would long 
since have become more deadly than the emana- 
tions from the upas-tree of fable. 

Owners of estates and builders of houses are 
alike ignorant of sanitary laws, even now in this 
our day, or alike careless as to consequences. 
Architects design and execute cloud-capp'd 
towers, solemn temples, and gorgeous palaces, 
but only that these buildings, with richly-carved 
outsides, may become vast poison generators, 
health destroyers, and life shorteuers. In this 

30 [October 20, 1B60.J 


[Conducted by 

huge metropolis no real remedy is applied to the 
sanitary evils existing, nor does a remedy form 
any portion of the gig-antic plans of the Metro- 
politan Board of Works. Outlet sewers will 
not purify the miles of sewers now ruinous and 
choked with foul deposit. Disinfecting may be 
a slight palliative, but it is not an effectual 
remedy. The Queen, Lords, and Commons fare 
no better in their new and gorgeous palace at 
Westminster than the poorest subject in the 
realm. The architect has elaborated the outside 
of the building with carvings in endless repeti- 
tions, whilst within there is rottenness gene- 
rating the seeds of disease and premature death. 
This " gorgeous building" has been placed on a 
site below the level of river floods and daily 
tides. All the sewers and drains are within the 
" richly-carved walls ;" all the traps and sinks 
connect every apartment with such drains and 
sewers ; and the foul contents are retained by 
river flood and tidal waters, to ferment and 
give off the injurious gases of decomposition. 
The government of the day had the wisdom to 
consider the question of ventilation, and some 
hundred thousands of pounds sterling have been 
laid out, and many thousands are annually ex- 
pended, to work the ventilating apparatus pro- 
vided. The architect did not, however, believe 
in the ventilating doctor ; and, consequently, 
little besides cost, blundering, quarrelling, and 
law expenses, have come of the money expended 
on ventilation. The corridors and the committee- 
rooms are totally unventilated. 

London is said to be " the best-sewered large 
city in the world," and this, no doubt, is true. 
But London sewers require many improvements. 
The flat inverts and ruinous sides retain all the 
foul solids, and the subsoil soaks in the tainted 
fluids, so that the earth beneath and the air 
above are alike poisoned. The greater portion 
of the sewers in Westminster, around and 
within Buckingham Palace, and about Belgravia, 
have been constructed of bad sectional forms, 
with defective, spongy, porous bricks and in- 
ferior mortar, and are, consequently, ineflicient. 
Fever has prevailed in the neighbourhood. 

The foul sewers of London taint the atmo- 
sphere in the streets, and, through drains, 
contaminate the air within the houses. Many 
of the inhabitants of London judge as to changes 
of weather by the effluvium from their drains. 
During the so-called disinfecting operations of 
last summer, the peculiar taint of certain dis- 
infecting material, passed down the main sewers, 
was perceived within the houses on each side of 
the streets : proving that sewer gases constantly 
have access to the interior of such houses. 
_ The fashionable novelist describes vast man- 
sions, surrounded by park and gardens, where 
servants in gorgeous liveries attend the noble 
and wealthy of the land. In this England of 
purs, many such houses bear names renowned 
in history, and are celebrated in song. The 
fashionable novelist would write something as 
follows: "Before us stood the embattled walls 
of this famous castle, out of whose gates 
lords, knights, and ladies rode forth to par- 

lake of the excitements of the chase, in the 
wide-spreading meadows and extensive woods 
around." Or, " The traveller arrived before 
the entrance to the park. An elaborately 
polished stone archway, gates of cunning 
workmanship, richly edged with gold, lodge 
and gateway bearing the arms of the noble 
family, stood partially shrouded amidst full- 
grown trees. A neatly-kept carriage-drive led 
on through forest trees centuries old, amidst 
which antlered deer bounded in native freedom. 
At each turn of the road some new beauty was 
opened to view ; until at length glimpses were 
seen of grass and water, and then was fully re- 
vealed a breadth of lake and lawn; above which, 
terrace on terrace, rose the palace-like residence 
of his Grace." There are many seats in England 
more picturesque than the words even of the 
novelist can paint. Nature and art combine to 
make a perfect whole. Within, we tread polished 
floors and velvet pile to examine the evidences 
of luxury and taste. Every square yard of wall 
and ceiling has been an artistic study. Win- 
dows of coloured glass light up hall and corridor 
with rainbow-tinted shadows. Great artists are 
represented in cabinet pictures bearing fabulous 
prices. Wealth, judgment, and refined taste 
have accomplished all that money could do to 
make a luxurious and comfortable abode for in- 
tellect and worth. Sanitary knowledge has alone 
been absent. 

The castle may be surrounded with remains 
of a moat, the whole basement subsoil may be 
damp and rotten, so that leprous blotches of 
mildew and decay are spread over floors and 
walls. The mansion, in its beautiful grounds, 
may stand upon a wet subsoil, ever damp and 
cold. The architect was skilled in all the learn- 
ing of the Greeks and Romans, in grouping use- 
less columns to bear incongruous pediments, filled 
with Unmeaning sculpture. There may be no 
room for even an architectural pedant to find 
fault, as there is " precedent" for every line, and 
for every break, and for every form. The eleva- 
tion in central mass and wings, from ground to 
sky line, is presumed to be "perfect." Yet, 
who has thought of sanitary arrangements ? 
Not the architect. The family physician, 
generation after generation, visits and pre- 
scribes in crampy-written Latin. The grand 
house swarms with quadruped vermin, the 
natives in the adjoining village know when 
the family is at home or from home by the 
migrating movement of the rats. Servants 
sutler from rheumatism and fever, ladies may 
have died of consumption, and several heirs to 
the illustrious house may have been gathered to 
their fathers in babyhood. There has been 
fresh decorating, renewed painting and gilding, 
additional pictures and statuary. But, year by 
year, foul subsoil, foul drains, and foul sewers 
become still fouler. 

Here is no over-statement. There are few 
houses in which, or about which, there are 
not some causes of discomfort which are easily 
removable. The sewers may be too large and 
not sufficiently ventilated, the drains may ho- 

Cbulei L)ickni.J 


[OttoUr M, 1MO.J 31 

neycomb the basement and not remove the 
refu.- into them, the water may be 

hard, the tanks and cisterns may be in im- 
proper places, and may also be neglected 
and foul with deposited sediment. Basements, 
halls, staircases, corridors, and rooms may be 
unventiiated, a considerable number of the rooms 
may bo permanently \vitliuut sunshine, and some 
ereu without any direct sunlight. A princely 
income will not secure health to any person vo- 
luntarily, or otherwise, passing the greater part 
of his time in such character of house. An un- 
tainted subsoil, a thoroughly ventilated base- 
ment, large and lofty rooms, exposed to direct 
sunshine, pure water, preserved pure for use, 
afford a chance of health and comfort. Carving, 
gilding, rich carpets, costly works of art, and 
close and dark rooms, may only contribute to 
splendid misery. 

There are many houses in Great Britain which 
have inherited evil reputations; there is a 
"ghost's room," or "a ghost's corridor," or "a 
ghost's tower," or "a ghost's terrace." The 
true ghost's walk is, however, in the basement ; 
amongst and through foetid drains and foul 
sewers, the ghost's reception-chambers are an- 
cient cesspools, and the ghost's nectar is drawn 
from tainted wells and neglected water cisterns. 
There are British ghosts ; but there are also 
continental ghosts, if possible, more terrible : 
the chilling palaces of Italy, the gilded splen- 
dours of Paris, are alike ghost-haunted. Your 
only exorcist is the sanitary engineer. 


IT is curious how little we in England, who 
pique ourselves, and not without reason, on 
our general knowledge of contemporary French 
literature, know of certain names and popularities 
and those not of the vulgar or ephemeral order 
which, from time to time, spring up and grow 
at the other side of the Channel, making their 
wav, exerting their influence, and sending forth 
their voices, through the length and breadth of 
France, without an echo finding its way across 
so narrow a space. Few of us have heard of 
PIERRE DUPONT, now living, who was born 
at Lyons on the 23rd of April, 1821. His family 
were simple artisans, and, at the death of his 
mother which occurred when he was four years 
old his godfather, a priest, took him to his 
home, and commenced his education, which, 
later, was advanced in the little seminary of 
Largentiere. On quitting the religious school 
he was bound apprentice to a silk weaver, but 
shortly after obtained a clerkship in a bank. 

Then came the old story, often repeated but 
ever new, of tho poet- nature revolting against 
the regular discipline, the dry details, what ap- 
pears to it the vulgar tyranny of commercial 
habits and rules, and in his new position Pierre 
Dupont chafed and fretted for the liberty which 
poets, and especially young poets, dream, often 
erroneously, as essential, not only to their hap- 
piness, but to the development of their genius. 

It happened that at 1'rovins there resided a 

grandfather of Dupont, who was acquainted 
with M. Pierre Lebrun, a member of the Aca- 
demy. Occasionally our budding poet visited 
this grandfather, and became an object of con- 
siderable interest to M. Lebrun. At this time he 
had completed one of his earliest poems, Le 
Deux Anges, The Two Angels. Being drawn 
for the conscription, he was, much to his dis- 
satisfaction, ordered to join a regiment of chas- 
seurs, but the idea occurred to M. Lebrun to 
publish this poem by subscription, and thus en- 
deavour to obtain a sufficient sum to purchase 
a substitute. 

The plan was tried and succeeded, and thus 
Dupont, unlike most youthful artists (using the 
word in its larger and more general sense), was, 
so to say, enabled to enter regularly on his 
poetical career through the profits of the first 
fruits of his poetical genius. 

Les Deux Anges, though in many respects 
incomplete, incorrect, and wanting in the vigour 
that is so remarkable a characteristic of many of 
his later productions., yet contained so much 
promise, had in it so many indications of an 
original genius and an elevated intelligence, that 
in addition to the material benefit he obtained 
by it, he was honoured by a prize from the 
Academy, and on this, was offered a small place 
in the Institute as assistant in the compiling 
the Dictionnaire de 1' Academic. There is no 
doubt but that his labours in this department, 
however material they may seem, and the oppor- 
tunities he frequently had of hearing the some- 
times stormy, often eloquent, discussions on 
philological points, of such men as Victor Hugo, 
Cousin, &c., went far to perfect his style, teach 
him the value of words, and give force, elegance, 
and correctness to his language. 

But still Dupont aspired to live entirely free, 
to follow poetry exclusively, to live for it and by 
it ; and, after a time, he resigned his post at the 
Academy, explaining to M. Lebrun his reasons 
for doing so, and expressing the warmest grati- 
tude for the interest and assistance he had ac- 
corded him. 

Free to follow the bent of his inclinations, he 
worked hard to complete a series of songs en- 
titled Les Paysans, Chants Rustiques, Peasants, 
Rustic Songs, of which not only the words but 
the music (though he was utterly ignorant of 
music as a science, insomuch that when he 
had composed his airs he was obliged to sing 
them to De noted down by another person) was 
his own. A neat edition, illustrated with tole- 
rable lithographs, appeared, and then com- 
menced his popularity. 

For many years the vocal drawing-room music 
of the middle classes had consisted of "ro- 
mances," of which words and music rivalled 
each other in mawkish sickliness and inane mo- 
notony. Here was something new, something 
sparkling with truth, and hie, and freshness, 
with earnestness and originality; words, now 
plaintive, simple, tender, now overflowing with 
a wild, turbulent, but never coarse gaiety, novr 
marked with the manly tone of wholesome, loving 
labour; music instinct with feeling, melody, ?r 

32 [October *0, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

riety and originality, indeed, often rising to a 
degree of excellence most difficult to compre- 
hend as the work of one totally ignorant of all 
scientific rules. And the new voice thus speak- 
ing speedily found an echo among nearly all 
classes of society, descending from the drawing- 
rooms to the streets. 

Thus Dupont continued to labour in his call- 
ing, gathering fresh strength, seeking inspiration 
in natural scenery, his love for which breaks out 
at all times, even amid the sterner accents of 
patriotic and political denunciation philoso- 
phising, in a word, thinking, and putting his 
thoughts into strong, true, and eloquent lan- 

In 1846, Dupont composed a song, The Song 
of the Working Men, of which I shall presently 
give a translation ; however feebly it may re- 
present the verve of the original, it is yet, I 
think, nearly as faithful and literal a rendering 
of its force as can be produced. 

The Song of the Working Men forms a sort of 
epoch in the history of Dupont's genius. Here 
mind and heart and virile indignation assert them- 
selves in tones hitherto unuttered. The poet 
himself was half uneasy at the echoes of his own 
voice, and in his uncertainty kept back the song 
for a while, and consulted some of his friends 
ere deciding to publish it. One of these, M. 
Charles Baudelaire, from whose brief notice of 
the life and works of Dupont some of the facts 
here recorded are gathered, thus relates the im- 
pression caused by the first hearing, from Du- 
pont's lips, of Le Chant des Ouvriers : 

" When I heard this admirable cry of suffer- 
ing and melancholy, I was dazzled and affected. 
Tor so many years we had waited for some 
poetry that was strong and true ! It is impos- 
sible, to whatever party we may belong, in what- 
ever prejudices we may have been brought up, 
not to be touched by the spectacle of a sickly 
multitude, breathing the dust of the workshops, 
swallowing cotton, becoming actually impreg- 
nated with white lead, mercury, and all the 
poisons necessary for the creation of the won- 
ders they execute ; sleeping amid vermin, buriec 
in quarters where the greatest and the humblesl 
virtues lodge side by side with the most hardenec 
vices, and the offscourings of the hulks" (bagne), 
"of that suffering, languishing multitude to whom 
the earth owes her wonders, who feel 

the vermilion blood 

Through their veins impetuous flow ; 
who cast long and saddened looks on the sun 
shine and shade of broad parks, and who, for 
sufficient consolation and encouragement, shout 
their saving refrain, ' Aimons-uous !' Let us 

Thenceforward, Dupont's poetry continuec 
chiefly to pursue the new course it had struck 
out. He wrote earnestly, passionately, feelingly 
though perhaps at times somewhat one-sidedly 
of the rights, the wrongs, the sufferings, the 
temptations of the working classes, bringing tc 
bear on all a hopeful, loving philosophy whicl 
makes his songs find an echo wherever they ar< 
heard in France. 

The revolution of 1848 gave new vigour and 
ew voice to Dupont, and all the hopes, interests, 
nd prospects it awakened were sung by him 
jrith a passion and energy that are yet tempered 
iy the tender and pastoral character of his 
arlier muse. At all times his intense love of 
nature breaks forth, and he always seems to 
iew it with a sort of tender, mysterious melan- 
iholy : the waving boughs of the thick forest, 
ts whispering shades, the murmur of hidden 
treams, the pale beauties of the most ephe- 
meral and fragile flowers, all the more mystic 
and essentially poetical views of natural scenery 
and objects are what seem especially to address 
hemselves to his feelings. Listen to the vague, 
dreamy, half-supernatural tone that breathes 


Dream of a landscape pale, 

With heather and birches light, 
Whose silvery leaves on the passing wind 

Float like foam on the surges white : 
And beneath their flickering shade, 

A graceful form behold, 
More fair and slight than the birches white, 
The virgin with locks of gold. 

Day and night, all pale and fair, 

She roams the woodland bowers, 
Child beloved of the earth and sky, 
Sister of stars and flowers. 

All gaze as she passes by, 

All praise her near and far, 
Break the guitar and the sounding lyre, 

The wild woods her minstrels are ! 
The beast from its den looks forth, 

The birds from their downy nests, 
And river and lake for her sweet sake, 

As mirrors spread forth their breasts. 

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c. 

They say that with the stars 

She communes when the night wind blows, 
Some whisper a tale of mysterious love, 

But her lover no one knows. 
Oh it is not beneath the boughs 

Of the fir-trees and birchen groves, 
Their feathery shade was never made 

To shelter her earthly loves ! 

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c. 

She loves 'neath the mystic shade 

Of the heavens' golden palms, 
Far from the mortal world her soul 

Dissolves in the voice of psalms ! 
Angel ! a woman thou art, 

Ere called to thy home above, 
Among mankind one soul thou couldst find 

To love thee and merit thy love. 

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c. 

But before long the government found that 
Pierre Dupont's songs were of a character far 
too revolutionary to be uttered in the ears of a 
republic constituted under the existing and only 
possible and perfect form, and under a princely 
president who, a few months later, accomplished 
the coup d'etat of the second of December, and 
Dupont was warned that he must moderate his 
tone, or take the consequences. 

As, however, the warning produced but little 

The Fair Woman. 

Cbtrlei Dlektni.] 


[October JO. I WO.] 33 

effect, lie found himself obliged to keep out of 
the way of the police ; and having many sincere 
friends, admirers, and sympathisers in Paris and 
its environs, he remained hidden in the houses 
of various of these "till this tyranny should be 

I remember seeing him at this time. He was 
then about thirty, of middle height, with good 
features, a somewhat full, fresh-coloured lace, 
and brown hair, a very quiet and somewhat shy 
manner, and a countenance rather indicative of 
frank simplicity than of force or energy. An 
evening \vas appointed when I was to hear him 
sing, hut ere it came he was obliged to change 
his quarters to escape arrest. 

I remember being much struck with a picture 
of his life at this time. Among his friends were 
a young sculptor, since celebrated in France, 
and his young wife, daughter of one of the most 
gifted writers of the day. In their country re- 
treat Pierre Dupont was staying, and of a 
summer evening the three would wander forth 
through the fields, to the banks of the Seine, 
and lying hidden among the reeds and willows, 
the poet, in a low tone of suppressed energy, 
would sing to his friends the forbidden songs 
composed from day to day, songs Jie dared not 
sing in the house, lest the servants should hear 
and denounce him, but which he could not shut 
up silent in his breast, however great might be 
the risk of uttering them. 

Here is one of the songs that belong to this 
period the Song of Bread : 

When in the stream and on the air 
Is hushed the busy mill's tic-tac, 
When listlessly the miller's ass 

Browses and bears no more the sack , 
Then like a gaunt she-wolf comes in 

Fierce Hunger to the peasant's hearth ; 
A storm is brooding in the heavens, 
A great cry rises from the earth. 

There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, " I must have bread !" 

Up to the village Hunger walks, 

Up to the frightened town she comes ; 
Go, stop her progress, drive her back 
With all the rattle of your drums ! 
Despite your powder and your shot 
She passes on her vulture-wing, 
And on the summit of your walls 
She plants her black flag triumphing. 
There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
'Tis Nature herself doth rise, 

Crying, "I must have bread!" 
What will your marshalled armies do? 

Hunger steals from the farm, the field, 
Arms for her fierce battalions, scythes, 

Reap-hooks and shovels the farm-yards yield. 
In the town I hear the tocsin's knell, 

All are stirring : they rise, they run ! 
The breasts of the very girls are crushed 
With the sharp recoil of a heavy gun. 
There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
'Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, ' I must have bread !" 

Arrest among the populace 

All the bearers of scythes and gone, 
Scaffolds erect till the public place 

Red with the people's life-blood runs. 
Before the eyes of the shuddering crowd, 

After the fall of the slippery knife 
Has cut the thread of their du-tinie.*, 
Their blood shall send forth a cry of life. 
There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
'Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, " I must have bread !" 

For bread is needful as fire, or air, 

Or water. What can a people do, 
Unsustaincd by the staff of life, 

That God to his creatures seems to owe? 
But God has amply done His part : 
Has He refused us field or plain ? 
His sun is glowing upon the earth 
Ready to ripen the golden grain. 

There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
'Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, " I must have bread!" 

The kindly earth unploughed remains 

The while that all the temperate zone 
'Twixt pole and pole with yellow corn 
To feed the nations might be sown. 
Open the bosom of the earth, 

And for the combat let us learn 
To use new arms, and guns and swords 
To instruments of labour turn. 

There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, " I must have bread !" 

What to us are the quarrels vain 

Of cabinets and states afar ? 
Must we, for all these useless brawls 

Be called to share in a bloody war ? 
The surging people-ocean fear, 

Behold its awful tide with dread, 
Give the earth to the patient plough, 
And the nations will all have bread. 
There is no stilling the cries 
Of human creatures unfed, 
'Tis Nature herself doth rise, 
Crying, " I must have bread!" 

It is remarkable that, while treating of natural 
scenery, Dupont's poetry is instinct with an im- 
pression of melancholy mystery, many of his 
other songs, as Ma Vigne, My Vine, La Noel des 
Paysans, The Peasant's Christmas, La Fete du 
Village, The Village Fair, &c., are full of a wild, 
boisterous gaiety, which irresistibly carries the 
reader along, making the refrain (almost with- 
out an exception Dupont's songs have a refrain, 
in which is contained the very pith and essence 
of the spirit of the song) ring in his cars like a 
passage in some pleasant melody, which haunts 
him while the rest has escaped his memory. 
But it is almost impossible to give any notion 
of these songs (which are by no means the 
best, as poetical compositions) by translation ; 
rendered into another language they become 
vulgar and trivial, and 'losing the local charac- 
ter, which forms one of their most remarkable 
features, they lose the chief part of the charm 
and effect that belongs to them in the original. 

84 [October 20, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Pierre Dupont's songs may be divided into 
four categories. 

His first " manner," as painters say, is seen 
in the Peasants, of which the following may be 
taken as a fair specimen : 


Two oxen in my stable stand, 

Two great oxen, white and red, 
The plough is all of maple-wood, 

Of holly-branch the goad is made. 
All by their labour is the plain 

In winter green, in summer gold, 
The}' gain more money in a week 
Than the price at which they sold. 
If I had to sell the pair, 
I'd rather hang myself, I swear ! 
Jeanne my wife I love, but if I had to 

'Tween her and them, 'tis her I'd rather 


Mark them well, the gallant beasts ! 
Delving deeply, tracing straight, 
Eain and tempest, heat and cold, 
Hinder not their patient gait. 
When I halt awhile to drink, 

Like a mist on summer morns 
Steams their breath, and little birds 
Come and perch upon their horns. 

If I had to sell the pair, &c. 

Strong as any oil-press, they 

Gentle yet as sheep can be ; 
Every year the town-folk come 

Bargaining for them with me, 
To keep them till Shrove-Tuesday comes 

And lead them out before the king, 
Then sell them to the butcher's knife 

They're mine: I'll have no such thing! 
If I had to sell the pair, &c. 

When our daughter is grown up, 

If the regent's son should come 
To marry her, I promise him 

All the money saved at home ; 
But if for dowry he should ask 

The two great oxen, white and red, 
Daughter, bid the crown good-by, 

Home the oxen shall be led. 

If I had to sell the pair, &c. 

It was these songs that first established hi 
popularity, and many of them, especially th 
ioregoing and Les Louis d'Or, The Golden Louis 
may still be heard on organs and hurdy-gurdie 
all over France. 


We whose lamp, when the shivering morn 

Is announced by the cock-crow, is lit, 
We all, whom the struggle to live 

Brings ere dawn to the forge and the pit ; 
We whose labour from morning to night 

Is a struggle of arms, hands, and feet 
And that but to live for to-day 
No earning for age a retreat. 

Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 
To the freedom of every land ! 

Our arms, from the niggardly earth, 
From the jealous wave, painfully bring 

Hid treasures, f od, metals, and gems, 
Pearls and diamonds to deck out a king : 

Rich fruits from the glowing hill-sides, 

From the plains golden grain, ripe and full. 
Poor sheep ! while our backs remain bare 
What warm mantles are made of our wool ! 
Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 
To the freedom of every land ! 

What profit have we of the work 

That crookens our meagre spines ? 
Gain we aught by our floods of sweat ? 
We are nothing but mere machines ! 
To the sky do our Babels mount, 
To us earth owes her rarities ; 
But when once the honey is made 
The master has done with the bees. 
Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 
To the freedom of every land ! 

Our women must offer their breasts 

To the feeble stranger-child, 
Who, later, to sit by their side, 

Would consider himself defiled. 
The rights of the lords of the soil 

Upon us heavily tell, 
Our daughters their honour for bread, 
To the lowest of shopboys sell. 

Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 
To the freedom of every land ! 

Half-naked, 'neath rafters we dwell, 

Amid ruins, in pestilent holes, 
Now lodging 'mid villains and thieves, 
And now with the rats and the owls. 
Yet withal, our vermilion blood 

Through our veins impetuous flows 
How we joy in the sunshine's gold, 
And the green of the oaken boughs ! 
Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 

To the freedom of every land ! 
Every time that the purple tide 

Of our life-blood waters the eartb, 
'Tis for tyrants' lust that the dew, 

Is of fertilising worth. 
Let us spare it, brothers, henceforth, 

For love is stronger than war, 
While we pray that better days, 
May come with a happier star ! 

Brothers ! let's love, and think, 
When round the table we stand, 
Though the cannon be near at hand, 

To drink 

To the freedom of every land ! 
But beside these two styles, and mingling 
with them, are two others, of which the one is 
of an idyllic cast, delicately imaginative, as in 
La Blonde, Eusebe, &c., touched, here and 
there, with a sort of mystic and loving philo- 
sophy ; and the other a lighter kind of verse, as 
in L'Emigree de Prance, The French (female) 
Exile, and La Chataine ;* but in this latter order 

* A woman between dark and fair. We have no 
English equivalent. 

Ctoarlct DIcktni.] 


[October W, lea] 35 

of song, descriptive of that curious specimen 
of humanity, la Parisienue, Dupont is, as may 
be supposed, far less at home, and the result is 
not satisfactory. Here is 


The woodmen of the valley pause, 

And point with smile of score, 
At the foolish youth, whose floating hair 

Is blowing all forlorn. 
His eye, blue MB a .summer stream, 

Swims with a bitter tear, 
For his heart Ls full as the boundless sea, 
With a mi-lity grief and feai. 
He loves oh, folly viM ! 

The nameless, low-born youth 
He loves the only child 
Of the Christian baron, forsooth ! 

lie saw her as one day he went 

By her window, at her glass, 
And* now he roams from park to church, 

lu the thicket to see her pass. 
Fair, slender, tall and graceful, she, 

From her hair to her shoe, in truth, 
She looks a baroness, every inch, 

And he's but a student youth. 

He lovea oh, folly wild ! &o. 

No Greek nor Lathi does he know, 

His studies come by chance, 
Only in Nature's book he reads, 

And in the lady's glance 
And yet the world must yield to him- 

Will the baron say him nay? 
A secret, God to him reveals, 

That chases fear away. 

He loves oh, folly wild ! *c. 

This secret deep, this mystery, 

Makes him at once a sage, 
It teaches that the rich and poor, 

In every clime and age, 
Are moulded from the self-same clay, 

That love and learning raise 
All to a level Forth he goes 

To seek the baron's face. 

He loves oh folly wild ! &c- 

His tale he to the baron tells, 

Who bears upon his shield, 
A cross, a lance-head, and a gem, 

Upon an azure field. 
" Twere a scurvy thing," the baron says, 

No wise inclined to yield, 
" To see thy science and thy love, 

Engraved upon my shield!" 

He love* oh, folly wild ! &o. 

The damsel listened silently, 
The while her lingers fair 
F.ntwined the laurel and the rose 

That clustered richly there. 
" These lovely branches con but add 

New grace to it, I uis. ' 
41 Your band, young man," the baron said, 
And joined the two in his. 

" He loves me ! bliss extreme ! 

His heart the noble youth ! 
Is worth the love supreme 

Of the baron's child, in truth !" 

To regard Pierre Dupont's works in a merely 
literary point of view would be altogether a mis- 
take ; their claims to actual poetical merit van- 
ing considerably, aud seldom rising to the tirat 

rank. But he was the poet the times required; 
he rose from among the class who wanted a 
voice to speak their wrongs aud their sufferings, 
their few joys and many sorrows, their claims 
and their aspersions, with a personal knowledge 
and experience of what these were : he refused 
to let himself be trammelled by the lifeless con- 
ventionalities of the modern French school of 
poetry, and above all, though sometimes preju- 
diced, he was always true, to the extent of ma 
knowledge and belief; always in earnest, and 
despite occasional outbursts of indignation, his 
was a loving, hopeful, and essentially genial and 
human nature, and when the voices of such, men 
speak, they must infallibly find an echo. He 
believed that men were honest ; that they had 
hearts and consciences ; that they loved what 
was right, and high, and true ; and that they 
were anxious and able to advance to freedom 
and regeneration through love and union, 
through hope and courage ; and if ever men are 
so to advance, it will, under God, be through 
the sound of such appeals, through the awaken- 
ing of their nobler and better natures by confi- 
dent addresses to such higher part of them. 

Many a time France has been called to assert 
herself by empty swash-buckler cries of " La 
patrie ! Our country !" " La Fr-r-rance !" and 
" A bas, Down with this !" " A bas, Down with 
that !" it has always been down with something; 
surely now it is time to think of building some- 
thing up. 

In the year 1850 or 1851 commenced the 
publication of an edition of Pierre Dupont's songs 
m numbers, each number containing aa illustra- 
tion ; which illustrations, be it remarked in pass- 
ing, although in some instances signed by the 
names of Tony Johannot, Andrieux, &c., were, 
for the greater part, singularly poor, ill- ima- 
gined, conventional, ugly, and most carelessly 
executed. With the words was the music, 
which, with very rare exceptions, was of Du- 
pont's own composition. But whether this edi- 
tion was ever completed, I have not been able 
to ascertain: I should think that the political 
tone of some of the songs would render their ap- 
pearance, under the existing condition of the laws 
that govern the press, highly problematical. 

Some time alter the coup d'etat it was de- 
cided that Pierre Dupont's republican notions 
were no longer in any degree to be tolerated in 
France, and he was sentenced to transporta- 

Many persons, however, even among those 
who had given in a more or less sincere adhe- 
rence to the new order of things, were interested 
in him, and Gudin, the celebrated marine painter, 
whose house had afforded him very efficient 
shelter and hospitality in these perilous times 
when men of weight and note were sent out 
of France at twenty-four hours' notice, without 
any further reason being assigned than that 
it was for the " general security " of the nation 
organised a dinner to which were invited the 
.u and other influential guests, 
among whom Pierre Dupout, unnamed and un- 
touk his place. After dinner, Gudin, 

36 [October 20, I860.] 



still without mentioning the name of the very 
quiet, inoffensive guest who had taken so small 
a part in the conversation at table, called upon 
Dupont to sing. He did so, choosing, as may 
be supposed, such of his songs as were least 
calculated to offend the loyal ears of the 
company, and having succeeded in charming 
those of the marechal, Guclin revealed the 
1 obnoxious name of the singer, begging the great 
i man to exert his influence in his favour. This 
: the mare'chal promised to do, but as his master 
was strongly prejudiced against the rebellious 
bard, the friends of the latter counselled his 
leaving Paris, and keeping altogether out of 
reach till his security should, in one way or 
another, be established. But this he neglected 
to do, whether out of defiance or a too great 
confidence in the marechal' s intercession, or its 
results, does not appear. The consequence 
was, that before long he was arrested, and 
lodged in the Couciergerie, the prison from 
which Louis Napoleon himself had, but a few 
years previously, been transported to Ham. 
After spending some time in this incarceration, 
he was released through the influence of the late 
Prince Jerome, since which period he seems 
quite to have kept out of public sight. 

Pierre Dupont was married to a woman in 
his own class of life, to whom, it is said, he was 
much attached ; but she kept entirely in the 
background, and except that the heroines of all 
his Peasant Songs are called Jeanne, which, let 
us hope, was the name of Madame Dupont, we 
have no clue at all to her identity or history. 

It is hard to think that at thirty-nine the 
poet's career should be finished ; that any man 
possessing the gifts and the feelings he undoub- 
tedly possesses, should, in the force of age and 
strength, finally cast aside his arms, give up the 
struggle, and resign himself to fall into an apa- 
thetic indifference to the things that made his 
blood boil, that stirred all the pulses of his 
heart, that inspired him to raise his single voice 
in songs to which the nation sang a passionate 
and soul-felt chorus. Perhaps, seeing that, at 
present, any attempt to raise that voice again 
would be mere Quixotism, that its first accents 
would be stifled, and the singer sacrificed at a 
time when the sacrifice could render no service 
to the nation he loves so well, he bides his time, 
seeing, or deeming he sees, in the horizon the 
dawn of a happier day. 



MY uncle Sam was a man to be proud of. He 
stood six feet three in his stockings, and could 
jump a wall, ride a horse across country, or 
wrestle with any man in Cornwall. There are 
few of your fox-hunters throughout England 
who would care to put a horse on his mettle up 
and down our Cornish hills. Uncle's horse 
seemed made to his measure, " foaled to order," 
as our people said ; and daring riders as Cornish- 
men are, no friend borrowed the beast twice. 
Uncle Sam bought him at Bodmin; they 
could do nothing with him there, and were 

only too glad to get rid of him. His pre- 
vious owner hailed from the metropolis of the 
west, but the horse did not long remain at 
Plymouth, owing to an unfortunate habit of 
returning home without his rider. The Ame- 
ricans had not yet invented Mr. Rarey, and, 
but for my uncle purchasing Rambumptious, I 
do believe he must have been cut up into cat's- 
meat. Uncle Sam's " breaking-in " was unlike 
Mr. Rarey's, but equally efficacious. Rambump- 
tious stared at him, he stared at Rambumptious ; 
then, leaping upon his back, uncle rode him to 
his house, eight-and-twenty miles off. 

Uncle Sam's favourite amusement was swim- 
ming. He lived on the northern coast of the 
county, where the great Atlantic rolls in its 
mighty billows unchecked; the shore shelved 
out gradually for a long distance, and to gain 
the deep blue water he had to beat his way 
through a mile of breakers. We often watched 
him plunging through the white-crested waves 
and manfully surmounting the "rollers," look- 
ing like Neptune in his own element. Some- 
times he was away so long that folks said he was 
gone to Lundy Island, or to the Welsh coast, or 
Ireland. Nearly everybody in our little out-of- 
the-way town could swim, many having taken 
their first lessons from him, and he laid it down 
as a rule that no person's education was complete 
who could not undress and dress and support 
himself any number of hours in the water. I 
do think, if it had not been for the pigs and the 
poultry and the cows and Rambumptious and 
myself, Uncle Sam would have lived in the sea 
altogether. When anybody wanted him, he was 
generally to be found somewhere off the coast ; 
reminding one of Vice-Chancellor Shadwell, who, 
if not on the Bench or in Chambers, was sure to 
be in the Thames between Kew and Richmond. 
Lawyers tell us that he once granted an injunc- 
tion in the water. 

When I was ten years old (I recollect the 
time well, for it was just before I was sent to 
Winchester), uncle went to London, and I did 
not see him for three weeks. Wasn't I glad to 
welcome him back again ? He told me he was 
sea-sick, pining for the salt-water, the surf and 
the billows, and that London smoke and fo 
made him feel as though he had not washed 
himself for a month. So down we trudged to- 
wards the beach, and soon were in the water. 
Uncle told me he meant to make up for lost 
time, and that if he did not return within the 
hour, I could walk home and await his coming. 
At other times, he would take me a long way 
through the surf on his back, then throw me 
in and watch me regain the shore, for I was a 
capital swimmer for my age, having been quite 
at home in the water before I reached my sixth 
birthday. But this day uncle was ravenous, and 
I really think he ran through the breakers, like 
Atalanta over the standing corn, until he plunged 
into the deep blue water. I watched him out 
to sea as far as the breakers would permit, and 
then tried conclusions with the waves until my 
young strength was exhausted. I dressed my- 
self, and sat down on the beach to read a funny 

Charles Dlckni.] 


[October*, I MO.] 37 

book uncle had brought with him from London. 
I know I must have read a long time, for I got 
tired of reading and laughing, and wished uncle 
would come back. Then I walked about and 
strained my eyes to catch sight of him, but to 
no purpose, and if 1 hadn't been sure he could 
swim to America if he wished, I should have 
been frightened for him. At last I saw a speck 
upon the water at a great distance, and I knew 
it must be uncle's head ; and it came nearer and 
nearer, until finally there were two specks a 
big one and a little one. Then I ran to the 
highest ground I could find, and watched him, 
as the French say, " with all my eyes,'' and I 
got excited and wondered who was swimming 
with him, and whether his head was the big 
speck or the little one. Both of them came 
nearer and nearer, and I undressed myself again 
and plunged in to go and meet them. I was so 
excited that I think I could have swum ten 
miles, and in a short time I neared the blue 
water, and discovered that the little speck was 
uncle's head, and the big one I had seen first 
a great cask covered all over with barnacles. 
Uncle was angry at my venturing out so far, 
but I told him I thought he was bringing some- 
body to land with him, and that he must forgive 
me as I did not feel at all tired. I asked him 
what the great thing was he wias pushing in 
front of him, and he said it appeared to be a 
hogshead of French brandy. I helped him as 
well as I could to propel it through the surf, 
and after some considerable trouble we rolled 
it safely upon the beach. 

Wasn't this a funny kind of fish to be swim- 
ming in the sea ? But we do pick up funny 
things all along the Cornish coast. I have 
heard of bottles of wine by the dozen, floating 
ashore, and silks and satins, and shawls and 
laces, and gold watches and jewellery, and to- 
bacco and clocks. When I asked uncle how it 
was such things came there, he told me it was 
all due to the tariff and customs. I am sure I 
was obliged to them for their kindness to Corn- 

We did not leave our hogshead. Oh no ! 
We pushed far up the sands, out of reach of the 
sea, and dressed ourselves, and uncle said he 
would go and fetch a cart from the town. Four 
or five persons ran down to the beach, and there 
was great excitement about uncle's capture, 
until who should arrive but the exciseman. I 
never could like that man. He was a fussy 
little fellow, with a large head, and talked so 
much about one thing called the revenue, that 
everybody in the neighbourhood hated him. He 
came running to us, saying " Hi, hi ! what have 
we got here ?" as though it was any of his busi- 
ness. Uncle told him that he had found the 
hogshead floating in the sea, about three or four 
mites from shore, and that he was going to cart 
it to his house, when the exciseman stated that 
he had equal claims upon it, and that uncle 
must resign it to his care and keeping. Then he 
sent off for a cart, and we all accompanied the 
hogshead into town, uncle and the exciseman 
chatting amicably by the way. The news spread 

like wildfire, and very shortly there appeared a 
third claimant, in the person of Lawyer Tregar- 
thfii, the steward of the lord of the manor. I 
was very glad when we got the hogshead safely 
under cover in the exciseman's store, for I was 
;itVaid there would shortly be so many claimants 
that uncle, who had done all the work, would 
get little or nothing for his pains. The excise- 
man tapped the cask and handed a glass of the 
contents to uncle and Lawyer Tregarthen, both 
of whom said it was very fine claret. It was 
then agreed that the hogshead should remain 
under lock and key until the following morning, 
when they would all three repair to the magis- 
trates and request their opinion as to the owner- 
ship of the prize. 

There was a good deal of excitement in the 
town when we went before the magistrates next 
day. Everybody said the hogshead belonged to 
uncle, because he alone had captured it ; but 
there were other reasons for the townspeople 
being in his favour. They all liked him and dis 
liked the other claimants. Lawyer Tregarthen 
was particularly obnoxious to many of them ; 
on "court" days, when the tenantry came to 
pay their rents, he never admitted any excuse, 
merely offering them one alternative "Pay- 
ment or penalty : receipts, gentlemen, for your 
money, or writs for the want of it." Need I 
say Lawyer Tregarthen was not popular ? As 
for the exciseman, the poorer townspeople posi- 
tively hated him, for many of them had received 
his attentions in the shape of fines and imprison- 
ments, merely for picking up a few articles of 
foreign manufacture on the coast. Uncle Sam 
was their idol, their tribune. His advice was 
asked and followed in every emergency, and his 
giant arm and well-filled purse were ever ready 
to succour the unfortunate. I don't think he 
had an enemy ; if he had, the individual didn't 
like to show himself, out of fear of the towns- 

The three claimants walked together to the 
court-house, followed by a crowd of persons, all 
anxious to see how the case would be decided. 
Uncle, who was accommodated with a chair near 
the magistrates, stated how the hogshead came 
into his possession, adding, that he should have 
removed it to his house, had not two other claim- 
ants appeared whose rights seemed apparently co- 
equal with his own. They all three had agreed 
to submit their claims in an amicable manner to 
their worships, and he therefore, on behalf of 
himself and friends, requested their advice in 
this strange case of disputed ownership. 

I noticed Lawyer Tregarthen nodded to uncle 
when he had finished his speech, but the excise- 
man thought he could still further ventilate the 
affair, and having cleared his throat with an ex- 
plosion which startled several persons, me among 
the rest, he began as follows : " Yer wushups, 
there's a good deal of the genteel in what the 
squire has told yer, but I appears here for 

the revenue " when the senior magistrate 

stopped him, observing, "Their worships are 
perfectly advised of all the facts bearing upon 
the point at issue." There was a general laugh 

[October 20, 18CO.] 


[Conducted by 

at the exciseman, and numerous advices to " Shut 
up, ugly!" "Choke off!" &c. The magistrates re- 
tired for a few minutes, and, on their return, they 
gave their decision as follows : 

"Their worships are unanimously agreed that 
they can offer no decision in regard to the hogs- 
head and its contents. The claims are conflict- 
ing, and may or may not be coequal and co- 
existent, for though the capturer of the hogs- 
head may with some colour of justice uphold 
his right to the claret, on the plea of salvage, 
yet do the rights of flotson and jetsam give a 
coequal claim of ownership to the lord of the 
manor, whilst the rights of the excise interfere 
with both, and may, in their worships' opinion, 
be, perhaps, pre-existent. But while unpre- 
pared to give any decision upon the points at 
Issue, for the case is not down in the books, 
their worships are relieved from further trouble 
by the amicable manner in which the case has 
been submitted to them. They are therefore 
unanimously of opinion that the hogshead should 
remain secure under lock and key, and a me- 
morial be forwarded to the Board of Excise, 
praying the board to take the various claims 
into their earliest possible consideration, so that 
the hogshead and its contents may be disposed 
of as to them may seem fit." 

The three claimants left the court together, 
as they entered. They proceeded to the store 
where the hogshead was imprisoned, and having 
made sure it was all safe, they rolled it up 
against the wall, shut it in, turned the key, and 
all three affixed their seals upon the door, with 
the understanding that these were not to be 
broken until such time as the Board of Excise 
returned an answer to their memorial. 

Letters did not travel so fast in those days as 
they do now, but I expected uncle would have 
an answer in a week or ten days, at furthest. 
How uncle laughed at me, " Willy," said he, 
" we shall indeed be fortunate if we hear any- 
thing about the claret within six months. The 
government coach is a stick-in-the-mud vehicle, 
and the coachman sleeps on his box." And he 
was right, too, for six months passed, and a 
year, and then six months more, and no answer 
came back, and I thought they had forgotten all 
about it. At last uncle had to go up to London, 
and he got one of our county members to make 
inquiries about the hogshead. Didn't he laugh 
when he told us, on his return, that the memo- 
rial had been handed from one clerk to another 
in the Excise, and referred back again, and laid 
before a committee, then reported upon by a 
commission, submitted to counsel for opinion, 
covered over with figures and hieroglyphics, 
passed on through various stages, then dock- 
eted, tied up in red tape, and laid upon some- 
body's desk until he chose to look at it. They 
don't use red tape in government offices now, as 
formerly. Some naughty man, who I did hear 
was hanged, drawn, and quartered for it (the 
Lord Chancellor and all the great lawyers say- 
ing he was guilty of high treason), wrote wicked 
tilings about the Circumlocution Office, accusing 
the gentlemen in government departments of 

tying up John Bull with red tape, and strangling 
him with it. People laughed so much about 
this red tape, that it was ordered not to be used 
any more, and official documents are now tied in 
pretty green ribbon. Isn't that clever ? No- 
body can laugh at great folks any longer about 
" red-tapeism !" 

Would you think it ? Nearly two years after 
uncle found the claret we heard that a fourth 
claimant had started up in the person of a Mr. 
Droits, of the Admiralty, and that perhaps we 
might get none of it. 1 asked everybody I met 
who this Mr. Droits was, and everybody I asked 
told me he didn't know. Lawyer Tregarthen 
laughed at me when I said it wasn't a Cornish 
name, and advised me to question uncle about 
the gentleman. I did so, and uncle told me it 
was not a gentleman at all, but the droits or 
rights which the Admiralty possessed over all 
property found at a certain distance from shore. 
The Lords of the Admiralty did not, however, 
press their claim upon the hogshead, and folks 
down our way said it would have been very 
different if the claret had been port. I asked 
somebody why this was, and he told me that 
" mulberry -nosed, gouty-toed admirals were fed 
on nothing but port wine and turtle." 

We did get an answer to the memorial after 
all. The Board of Excise took two years and 
three months to decide the question, and then 
sent word that the claret was to be divided 
equally amongst the three claimants. Lawyer 
Tregarthen and the exciseman called upon uncle 
(I was home then for the holidays), and it was 
arranged that the next day but one all three 
were to be at the store at nine o'clock in the 
morning, for the purpose of bottling off the 
claret. I shall never forget that day. Uncle 
Sam sent down nine dozen empty claret bottles 
in a cart, and I accompanied him to the store, 
where we found Lawyer Tregarthen and the ex- 
ciseman waiting our arrival. The steward had 
an assemblage of bottles similar to uncle's, but 
I never saw such a lot of odd-shaped things as 
the exciseman had brought there. He had 
magnums, quart and pint wine bottles, cham- 
pagne bottles, soda-water and ginger-beer 
bottles, and three big medicine bottles. Every- 
body laughed at him, but he laughed too, and 
said his bottles would hold as much wine as the 
others. Then he broke the seals on the door, 
and in we went uncle, Lawyer Tregarthen, the 
exciseman, and I the crowd standing outside by 
the bottles. 

The exciseman grasped a gimlet in his hand, 
and with a magnificent flourish, plunged it into 
the hogshead, turned it round and round, and 
pushed it in up to the handle. He had pre- 
viously placed a can underneath to catch the 
wine, but when he pulled out the gimlet not a 
drop followed. We all looked at each other in 
astonishment, and uncle said we had better re- 
move the head of the cask. This was soon done, 
amidst peals of laughter outside, and we dis- 
covered that the interior of the cask was dry as 
a chip. What could have become of the wine ? 
We turned the hogshead over and examined the 

Cbtrlei Dlckeo*.] 


(October*). 1*00 39 

head next the wall, when what should we find 
but a large hole through which all the wiue had 
been ' . \V ho had clone it ? The crowd 

outside quickly hit upou the culprit, for we 
heard them cry, " That's Polzue! Bravo, Polzue!" 
We examined the remains of the seals upon the 
door, and satisfied ourselves they had not been 
tampered with, and for a long time could not 
make out how the rascal had managed to suck 
the monkey, as sailors call it. But when we 
went next door the mystery was explained. 
Polzue was a little cobbler who assisted in roll- 
ing the hogshead into the store, and had watched 
his opportunity to break through the lath and 
plaster partition dividing the store from his 
shop. Some months previously be had left the 
town, and glad all parties were to get rid of 
him, for he had taken to habits of drunkenness, 
and made himself a nuisance to the neighbour- 
hood. But he had first finished our hogshead 
of claret. 

Uncle Sam enjoyed the joke amazingly, but 
Lawyer Tregarthen and the exciseman felt much 
hurt, and threatened all the terrors of the law and 
the revenue. " Who drank the claret P" has 
passed into a proverb in our little out-of-the- 
way Cornish town ever BJnou 


THE Baron Bureaucrat, Envoy Extraordinary 
of the Most Christian King, is of the mystic 
" bund" diplomatic, and an accredited chrysalis 
living in a cocoon of protocols. Periodically, 
he takes his turn on the crank plenipotential, 
and regularly lets himself be tightened into a 
gorgeous prison jacket, like Mr. Keade's crimi- 
nals, choking splendidly. I am bound to say 
having seen him on public occasions, with the 
gold daubed on profusely, and the orders nailed 
on tirmly to his wooden chest, and the stiff patent 
saw which he wears as collar that he makes up 
as about the best doll of the party. 

The order of precedence throws him next to 
the great Panjam of France. He is, in a manner, 
handcuffed to that awful representative ; and 
the eldest son of the Church and the most 
Christian king may be said to be chummed to- 
gether, vicariously. 

Curious to say, though the noble baron has 
been sojourning here in Rome, some six or eight 
months, we cannot be taken to be officially cogni- 
sant of his being. \Ve have all seen him doing his 
puppel's business in the public shows in which 
parts he is more than respectable but we can- 
not be said to be aware of his existence. He 
has not been born to us pleiu potentially; and 
until he has passed through the formal nte cus- 
tomary, we shall obstinately disbelieve in him. 

At last, on one clear night, a carriage trundles 
me noisily into the broad Piazza ili Venezia, 
where the genuine plenipotentiary dwells in 
state, and where the possible one has cons, 
to undergo the probationary rite. There is to 
be jubilee to-night. The newly-made ambassador 
will be at home to all the world. Decent apparel 
is the only necessary passport. 

I suppose there is no accredited wan of pro- 
tocols who lays his head in so grand and me- 
diaeval a fortress as that Palazzo di Venezia. 
To look ou that bare still waste of wall, capped 
with battlements, stretching away down a 
whole side of an open square, and then running 
on still further down a narrow squeezed pa 
where you cannot pursue it further a L- 
blank chilling bit of desolation, with tremen- 
dous accommodation in the way of chambers, 
dungeons, chapels, and what not this spectacle 
is, in the open daylight, one of the most sombre 
and suggestive ; for it sets us galloping back a by- 
road ot history (without reference to the crimson 
Koran of Murray the prophet) to the fiercer 
days when it harboured tlie representative of 
the magnificent Lion of St. Mark. But at 
night, as I sec it now from the carriage win- 
dow, it rises, a dark mysterious fastness, its 
battlements standing out clear and defined 
against a dull blue sky, wonderfully like to the 
operatic castles disclosed at the opening of the 
third act, where the wicked Basso lives, and the 
two sentries pace to and fro, with their tin armour 
glinting fitfully in the moonlight. Every window 
has a Tine of flaring lamps upon its sill, which 
marks out so many yellow bands, and lights the 
old grey waste in a sort of mournful fashion. 
In front, in the open place, crammed thickly 
with the dark figures ot the populace, are two 
enormous orchestras garnished with wildly flick- 
erittg torches, and crowded with good players, 
discoursing exquisite operatic musio under the 
moonlight. The strangest, most Dantesque effect, 
for one looking from the carriage ! A true me- 
diaeval, semi-barbaric savour inthis kind of feudal 
entertainment of the populace. For, it is rigor- 
ously enacted that these nohle signors, while 
doing honour to the higher classes, must also 
furnish Panem et circenses, in this musical shape, 
to the mob. Very weird-like and fitful show 
the ranks of faces looking upwards, turned to 
flaming red in the glare of the torches ; and 
the musicians raisea aloft among the lights; 
and the carriages rolling in and out at the fiery 
archway a perfect blaze of illumination-^-aud 
the pale horsemen in their white cloaks, like 
mounted Dominicans, plunging among the dark 
figures, shouting hoarsely, aud flashing tlieir 
swords ; the old fortress looming out solemnly 
behind. A scattering of gravel, a tramping 
of restive horses, a banging of steps, and I 
am discharged at tbe fiery arch in a miscellany 
of guards, servants, and scarlet carpeting, and 
blaze of light. 

Ranks of the great Liveried look down expec- 
tant from the top of the scarlet stair, up which 
make progress, a company of golden puppets 
illustrious Panjama military, civil, and with 
a sprinkling of ike great Diplomatic Beflapped 
while, at tke top, the Liveried Interest waves you 
on grace fully into ike illuminated corridor. 

I rub my eyes. Am I being taken bodily 
to Dublin " Kestle" and the Lord " Lift'nint ?" 
or will this gallery lead me out with a surprise 
into familiar "Patrick's" Hall? Or ho\v is 
this sudden gush of court suits, the real steel 

40 [October 20,1860.] 


[Conducted by 

buttons and chains, the embarrassing spike 
called in courtesy a sword, the comic bag-wig, 
which we are accustomed to associate with that 
striking solemnity, to be accounted for? Glories 
of the " levy," incomparably unbecoming suits 
they touch a chord far off in this Eternal City ! 
Chamberlains these a flock, a bevy ; but the 
court suits ? They trouble me. For how could 
they have compassed them, unless indeed it be 
that one Nathan has an agency and fancy depot 
in the Old Jewry or Ghetto yonder ? One 
singles me out as his special prey, and being 
entreated in a confidential manner to entrust to 
him my name, and style, and titles, I break 
them to him with the same caution and diplo- 
matic reserve which I can see is the correct 
tone of the place. Being thus formally con- 
signed to this officer, we set out in a kind of 
procession, down the galleries : Court Suit lead- 
ing. Wondrously it affects me to see the long 
white spike embarrassing his movements, pre- 
cisely as in the dear old Dublin days the 
guise of the lower limbs suggesting the usual 
menial associations. But whither, Chamber- 

The procession moves forward, not gathering 
as it goes, limited strictly to its original ele- 
ments : Court Suit pattering on in front : vic- 
tim following close. Through many brilliant 
passages, through many scarlet-lined chambers, 
no help from without ; but glancing back, I see 
in the far distance another victim following his 
Court Suit meekly. I grow nervous. Whither, 
again, O Chamberlain? This way. In here. 
YVe are plunged suddenly into a bright glaring 
room, all deep crimson and gold, and flooded 
with the golden puppets ; with gaudy military, 
civil, ecclesiastical; with our own ball-room 
uniform, and shot and sprinkled with glittering 
ladies. Millennium for the Great Beflapped is 
at hand. Gorgeous Buckram is rampant. It 
seems to me an illimitable perspective of backs, 
of the long blue backs, with the tails and the 
flowered flaps, and the white trousers. All 
seem to have been temporarily elected into 
French mayors, and councillors " prive"s," and 
deputies. Dive in now into the glowing atmo- 
sphere Court Suit still leading, and looking 
round cautiously for his prisoner past this tem- 
porary mayor, who is at the doorway, with his 
linger on the wooden chest of another mayor, 
and the captive is led up straight into a clear- 
ing, where the great Panjam is standing in all 
his state. He stands in his embroidered prison 
jacket, suffering the usual strangulation fixed 
for solemn occasions. I see that he is a very 
florid man, perhaps a little goggle-eyed, and 
works his chin convulsively over the saw-edged 
collar. Chest is so well wood-lined and thrust 
forward, with such a crop of orders nailed firmly 
down, that I manufacture a new ornithological 
variety on the spot, and prefigure to myself a 
Robin Bluebreast. 

What was the fate of the name so privately 
confided to the Court Suit I never could learn. 
In what unrecognisable shape the mutilated 
syllabic remains were laid to the ear of the 

august diplomat, I cannot so much as speculate. 
There was profound obeisance on one side, and 
on the other reciprocal dippings of the head and 
neck (attended with spasms of pain) of the fitful 
jerky character peculiar to the Robin Blue- 

Court Suit, with yet something upon his mind, 
has fluttered round to where a small lady, a 
little bit faded yet not without a dignity of 
hers, stands beside the noble Panjam. Yet, 
she is not linked matrimonially to the noble 
baron, but is only, as it were, lent for the 
evening by a brother of the cloth of gold. 
A phantom ambassadress, to whom all comers 
shall bow obsequiously. Noble cardinals " re- 
ceiving," invite a distinguished kinswoman to 
stand in their brilliant chambers and play 
hostess for them. Court Suit and his trust 
being now parted for ever, he fades off into 
space, and the Trust having passed through 
his probation, it is hoped with tolerable credit, 
backs gently in the compressed humanity, and 
is absorbed into the gold-embroidered backs, the 
buckram figures, the slowly turning kaleido- 
scope of rustling silks and laces, cloths poly- 
chromatic, and dazzling pendent jewels that 
positively chink and tinkle. 

A perfect Babel as to hum and chatter, every 
one talking and whispering with a strained ear- 
nestness as though he had his last worldly di- 
rections to give before immediate execution, 
and but two minutes for that mournful office. 
Every one has a finger upon his neighbour's 
breast, thus putting home to him what he has 
to say. Every one is elbowing by every one else, 
and tegs pardon of every one else. Every one is 
military, ecclesiastical, or diplomatic, and wears 
the cloth of his order. The whole mass scin- 
tillates and shifts, like a piece of shot silk. As 
shifting humanity glints and is rent open, now 
and then I see a white gauzy fringe or waistcoat 
against the wall round the room : a fringe that 
rustles and turns, and, in parts, flashes and re- 
flects. The noble Roman ladies have come to 
see a diplomatic bureaucrat at home, and are 
decked in their purple and fine linen, and gold 
and jewels ; they blaze with these adornments. 
The family secretary has been summoned and has 
given up the gems which he holds in trust, has 
received receipt for the same, and will come for 
them again to-morrow. I see perfect cables of 
pearls, and lustrous chains of diamonds and 
emeralds, coiled thickly round fragile necks. It 
is gratifying to see here a sort of Indian idol 
a person of the most awful consideration, cream 
of cream, princess and what not decked extra- 
vagantly, literally encrusted, with these orna- 
ments. Gratifying, I say, as a joss or idol 
whose high priests shall be the Iinaum Han- 
cock, or Dervishes Hunt and Roskell; but 
otherwise a fearful little old lady, a perfect hag 
of quality, whose abundant bejewelling only 
brings out in more repelling hideousness the 
tawny skin of her poor shrunk neck, crumpled 
into a score of plaits and wrinkles. The earrings 
swing heavily from her ears, a great tiara flashes 
on her head, she has a stomacher for a jewelled 

Cb.-irlct Dlckent.} 


[Octobtr 10,1860] 41 

breastplate, and she turns slowly round on a 
pivot, this terrible little old lady, to furnish as- 
tonished beholders with the best view. There 
are other noble ladies thickly encrusted too, 
but they are, on the whole, minor nebulae. 

Such a tangled yarn of bishops, monsignori, 
cardinals, soldiers, priests, ladies, and the un- 
adorned black privates of the drawing-room, 
all jammed' and huddled together in one seeth- 
ing mass ! There are dainty bishops all violet, 
with light violet silk mantles fluttering behind, 
and violet limbs, and shading black hat witli 
gold cord entwined with a wreath of green 
velvet leaves. There are monsignori, daintier 
still, the very dandies of their cloth, some unor- 
dained and untonsured, being conspicuous at 
parties questing the well-endowed English belle. 
Most reasonably do their stricter brethren pro- 
tost against their being credited with these 
light doings, these gay oachelors belonging to 
their guild only in respect of dress. One hun- 
dred years back, it was a la mode for every one 
to wear the dress ecclesiastical ; and all such as 
enjoyed the patronage or protection of a cardinal 
or any influential authority in the Church, were 
privileged to masquerade it in grave sacerdo- 
tal robes. Barbers, apothecaries, and others, 
went abroad in decent black, and made the 
Eternal streets positively teem with clergy- 

I see a tall and imposing figure, rustling and 
flaming in scarlet, capped by a round, florid, and 
amiable face not wholly unfamiliar to London 
streets, and the famous English Cardinal whose 
seat is at Westminster breaks out of the crowd. 
I admire how, at one moment, he is all Itah.Mi 
redundancy ; at another, plain English ; shiftily 
swiftly, according to his company, from lively 
animated gesticulation of arm and finger and 
feature, and from a liquid and most musical 
fluency, into sober, tranquil, and severe Saxon. 
How his crimson flashes, and rustles noisily as 
he turns, and the light is reflected from broad 
round forehead, russet also ! He is taller by a 
head than all these. And do I not know, 
and recognise with a start, this little figure, 
now gliding by, in violent contrast to the 
scarlet cardinal ! Familiar the ivory face, and 
the shadows and caves in the ivory face, and 
the massive black hair, and the bar mouth with 
the shining teeth all on view, and the plain un- 
assuming black habit set off so daintily with the 
thick sprinkling of tiny scarlet buttons : set off, 
too, more effectively by the blazing diamond 
star upon his right breast. But that little patch 
of scarlet upon nis coal-black hair is more effec- 
tive still, and should fill a painter's heart with 
gratitude and refreshing comfort. He glides by 
with his head bent a little forward, and brushes 
by opposing figures ever so softly, and with a 
liquid " Perdona" sliding from the shining 
teeth. Inert military clothes-blocks look over 
their shoulders disdainfully as they feel the 
touch, and shrink back with a cowering humi- 
lity as they discover who passes. Golden 
dolls of diplomacy salute him with the smirk of 
their order, and he flings them back a superb 

nod. Some dare to accost him with a sort of 
timorous servility, and to each he casts a sen- 
tence or two, with a magnificent insolence 
could hug him for. Eyes meet eyes furtively 
as he glides, and many times are whispered the 
words, " II famoso cardinale !" A poor little 
shrivelled ancient, with a " civil " air about 
him, and who has plainly hung on at some courts 
time out of mind, and at whose button-hole 
jingles a whole string of little medals and orders, 
like a bunch of keys, has with a frightful au- 
dacity ventured to stay the progress of " II fa- 
moso." I tremble for the little grizzled ancient, 
but he goes to his work manfully. He pours 
some hurried tale in at the ivory ear. More pre- 
cious than the best bit of comedy is the impa- 
tient roving of the black eyes travelling on their 
course, though the dark body be stopped. The 
bar mouth lengthens sourly. The firm fleshy nose 
is drawn downwards, and I catch the words 
" E fatto ! e fatto !" as who should say, " Tis 
done, I tell you, old man ; plague me no more ! 
let me by !" Aground out. Ancient retires with 
ioy on his wizened face, and with his bunch of 
Keys jingling. 

To men thus deliciously overbearing, he 
tramples his way onward. Grammont, the Wer- 
ther-taced, true " Alfredo mio," smiles on him 
sweetly, and it strikes me half sarcastically ; but 
is flung back with a bare nod of defiance. 
And now, touching his goal, reaching to the 
soft fringe of fluttering muslin, and clouds 
of lace and shining silks, whence Madame la 
Princesse has been smiling smile of invitation 
and wooing with her face, bar mouth fades away 
and dissolves utterly, and a sweet soft expres- 
sion takes its place. Presently he is sitting 
opposite the two noble ladies, distilling the 
sweetest honey of small-talk, most fascinating, 
insinuating, and seducing. 

Stalks by, now, the gigantic Edinburgh Vo- 
lunteer: whom bystanders civil and military 
survey curiously and with a sense of awful 
mystery. Friends, privileged to such familiarity, 
take hold of his dirk and hairy pouch, feeling 
them all over, as do Indians the dress of the 
white men. But to the august princesses and 
other ladies, that needless exposure of lower 
limbs is a terrible scandal. Brush by me, too, 
many ministers and envoys, not one of whom, I 
will venture to affirm, is fitted with the odd 
exceptional no-mission which belongs to the 
short black-bearded little man, whom foreigners 
call " Odoroosell." He is the envoy unaccre- 
dited, in diplomatic relation to the state with 
whom we have no diplomatic relations. He is 
a plenipotential contradiction and diplomatic 
anomaly. He officially exists, and has his being 
as Secretary of Legation, far down at Florence ; 
but comes up on little amateur missions prying 
about, and questing little facts and damaging 
matters which he shall embody in a despatch to 
" my government." Wise legislators, who shrink 
from any contact with the scarlet hats that reign 
on the Seven Hills, and who fought the good 
figiit, years since, in that famous debate on the 
Diplomatic Relations with Rome Bill, now Uttle 

42 [October 20, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

dream that a real red-tape official goes up daily to 
the Vatican, and is closeted for hours with the 
Cardinal Secretary of State, arranging English 
interests with that person, and playing- a little at 
diplomatic chess. 

Meantime, company pours in fast and thick. 
Court Suits are overborne utterly, and finally 
break down, having at last to make no more 
than a feint of going through their office. 
French colonels are brought up in clusters, 
and go through their bowing with a finished 
grace. Enter profusely the gold dolls, bre- 
thren of the cloth: and when envoy meets 
envoy, then comes the tug of wrist and in- 
dustrious shake of welcome. The heads pie- 
nipoteutial keep jerking downward towards 
each other with' the spasmodic motion of robins 
and canaries slaking their thirst. I am told 
that both these motions, in proportion to their 
length, are demonstrations of extravagant diplo- 
matic affection. 

Liveried retainers in the uniform (temporarily 
I suspect, for a reason to be mentioned pre- 
sently), come struggling by, freighted with a cool 
load of ices, and cut their bright way through. 
The ices are fashioned into pleasing configura- 
tions of plump yellow pears and scored tortoise 
backs. More perilous is that heap of bonbons, 
macaroons, and such toothsome delicacies, piled 
high upon a tray, in a slippery and uncertain 
cohesion, borne also by a daring menial into the 
very thick of the crowd. Broad hands are 
plunged into the dainty heap, and return with a 
rich booty. It seems to me that each succulent 
item is detached according to the delicate mani- 
pulation which can alone secure success at the 
exciting sport of Jack Straws. How the whole 
was not overthrown and swept overboard by re- 
dundant cuffs and flaps, strewing the carpet 
with luscious debris, is to me a source of the 
strangest speculation. 

In this fashion, then, is the noble baron 
at home until close upon midnight ; the poly- 
glot company, remaining firmly compact, eddy- 
ing and fluctuating, and at the same hothouse 
temperature, until that hour when it begins to 

There remains only this pregnant fact to be 
appended by way of moral. The noble baron has 
a book in which you are invited to subscribe 
your name (not without a certain overstrained 
courtesy and anxiety on the part of the book- 
holders) : with a view, it is to be presumed, of 
his knowing who had done him the honour of 
waiting on him. With another view, also : to 
be discovered betimes on the morrow 

Certain gentlemen in shabby cloaks, and very 
shabby cocked-hats, will come round officially 
to your hotel, and send up by waiter their desire 
that you would enrich the hand that last night 

S resented the ice, hat, or coat. These are 
ucal or baronial menials : so we think we must 
not wound their nicer feelings by a poor hono- 
rarium. But this is pure weak-mindedness, and 
a mistake. Any humble offering will suffice. 
Date obolum ! Two Pauls, say, and you will have 
their prayers. But I think it is not handsome 

on the part of the noble baron at least not 
conducive to the honour of the noble nation he 


IT would be a good thing for the taught, if 
teachers fairly understood that, among the young 
always, and among the old most commonly, the 
relation of ten hours' learning to five hours' learn- 
ing is not as ten to five. We understand that 
Mr. Edwin Chadwick has been engaged lately in 
researches among teachers and scholars in na- 
tional schools, factory schools, and elsewhere, 
which, when their results are detailed, will de- 
monstrate what reason alone might suffice to es- 
tablish as a truth, that the children of the work- 
ing classes who study books only for three or 
four hours a day and give the rest of their time 
to play and active labour, have brighter wits and 
more true knowledge than those who are at 
school both in the morning and the afternoon, 
and spend their evenings m preparing lessons. 
Employers of intelligent labour in the manufac- 
turing districts have discovered the superiority of 
half-time scholars. In the agricultural districts, 
let a boy work half tlie day at school and half 
the day in the fields, and he brings energy of 
health to studies never followed with a jaded 
mind, while he has time enough out of school 
for the digestion of his mental food, and it be- 
comes, not a weight to be borne on his mind's 
back, but part of its life and growth, source of 
new strength. A boy's or a girl's body thrives 
by food given at about four hour intervals, and 
tiie mind only is made sickly by incessant stuff- 
ing! Intellectual growth depends not upon 
ijuantities devoured, nor very much on the sort 
of nourishing and wholesome food that may be 
taken, but on that strength of the digestive 
power which is certainly destroyed by gluttony. 
" I read fourteen hours a day," said a proud 
working student to a famous scholar. " Indeed, 
sir!" was the reply; "and pray when do you 
think ?" 

The practical issue of Mr. Chadwick's in- 
quiries is to show that without laying any more 
bricks upon bricks, we can almost double the 
school accommodation, while we improve the effi- 
cacy of instruction for the masses. Grant that 
three hours a day of energetic study in the school- 
house, with the hour or two of home preparation 
it demands, gives to a child's brain as much of 
that particular form of diet as it can digest, and 
we throw open the national schoolroom or the 
factory school every day to two bodies of 
scholars. A hundred may be taught where there 
was only space for fifty, and at the end of the 
year the hundred will have sounder knowledge, 
brighter wit, and, at the same time, healthier 
frames, than would have been given to the fifty 
with cramped bodies and crammed heads. 

Many teachers, we know, honestly believe 
that the young mind has no digestive power; 
that its stomach is, so to speak, a sack of un- 
limited size and elasticity which is to be stuffed 
with knowledge, likely or not at all likely to be 



C0etotr, IMA.] 

wanted as provision for the voyage of life after 
the age of fourteen, sixteen, or twenty. They 
look upon leaeliin^ as the provisioning of some 
newly-built ship for a lout,' passage, or the coal- 
iug of a steamer; and even then there are some 
have sueli faith in old stores or in workrd- 
out mines, that they will mix their supplies 
largely with wormeatWJ l)iscuit, and pour in 
more slate than roal, to bo thrown overboard as 
soon as the good ship has discharged her pilot, 
and is fairly tossing on the open sea. 

In childhood' and in age there is, as to the 
mind, too little practical distinction made be- 
tween feeding and working. The body's power 
of strengthening itself by the assimilation of food 
has understood limits, a"nd its power of putting 
out the strength so got is known to be a great 
deal less limited. A man who eats for two hours 
works for ten. The swallowing of facts by the 
mind is as the swallowing of food by the body. 
Reading, repetition, learning by rote, are but 
means to an end, and the end to which they are 
a means is not the mere power of vomiting forth 
again what has been taken in. The mental di- 
gestion of the young is naturally very energetic. 
Hear a child besieging those about it with its 
endless Why? and How? and wonder at the 
blindness of men who think that dogmatic au- 
thority is the best help to the growth of its 
understanding, and that it suffices to reply to 
those questions with, Because I say it, ana As I 
say. Ihe spirit of independent research, of end- 
less inquiry and comparison, leading to innu- 
merable shrewd little conclusions, is tne process 
of digestion in the child's mind. The combative 
argumentative temper of the boy and girl, so 
prompt to question all that is presented to it, is 
a sign of healthy hunger in the brain, not to be 
checked as presumptuous challenging of the au- 
thority of elders, but to be encouraged as a 
means of building tip the strong life of the mind. 
Is it not notorious that in schools and families 
this habit of constant questioning by the young, 
is often forcibly repressed because it becomes so 
direct and searching, or so wide in its range, that 
the elder to whom appeal is made, if it be bis 
rule, or her rule, fairly to meet every inquiry, 
may many times a day have no better reply to 
give than, " I don't know " F 

It is a miserable vanity that shrinks from 
uttering that little "I don't know ;" vanity 
founded on the meanest estimate of the infinity 
of knowledge. There was a time when a few 
bookshelves would hold the written record of 
all that men knew; now, it would take a life 
to learn all that is known and thought about 
a single subject. The new degrees of Ba- 
chelor and Doctor of Science at the London 
University are founded upon the understand- 
ing that even of the imperfect knowledge 
man has of each small branch of the study of 
nature, one branch alone can be mastered tho- 
roughly by one mind. It is not even considered 
to be m the power of one man to master, as it 
stands, the whole science of chemistry a science 
still in its infancy : the doctor of chemical science 
may be an inorganic or an organic chemist, he 

cannot be both. In the commonest truths lie 
ofien the deep.-st of unfathomed mysteries. Is 
the child, then, to be brought up in the persua- 
sion that his fattier or his schoolmaster can 
answer every question if he will, but is unwill- 
ing to be teased too much ? Wholesomer teaching 
no youth ever gets than when the person who is 
held to be the wisest, and who is most ready to 
guide with his knowledge, is found daily, and as 
it were hourly, pointing to the vast regions of 
knowledge and thought which are beyond even 
his vision with the honest " I don't know," which 
makes the way straight for pursuance of inquiry. 

Centuries ago, Roger Bacon declared one of 
the chief hindrances to increase of sound know- 
ledge was the prevalent willingness of men to 
receive credit for knowing that of which they 
indeed were ignorant. Honour be to " I don't 
know " in the schoolhouse ! If the teacher be 
only reasonably wise, and answer questions of all 
sorts to the best of his ability, never affecting 
knowledge that he has not, rather proud than 
ashamed to guide those who learn from, him by 
the honesty with which he confesses ignorance 
when he is ignorant, he will be in the eyes of 
the young about him a true Solomon. It 
is amazing that men who have been boys, 
who have been to school and shared with the 
race of boys clear-sighted ridicule of affectation 
in their rulers, can suppose that their own airs 
of infallibility, maintained by more or less sup- 
pression of inquiry, are as against the same race 
a successful fraud upon intelligence. 

Whatever goes into the brain ought to be 
properly debated there, that is to say digested. 
Together with the time for swallowing the 
daily bits of knowledge, should go a longer time 
for their conversion into the material of thought. 
The process is one that may be almost left to 
nature. In youth it begets infinite research into 
the experience of others, and in age it goes on 
silently. At each period the process is the same ; 
the best attainable experience of others is sought, 
and compared. The young can only appeal to 
those about them and work upon oral testimony; 
the old seek information of the best attainable 
authorities by questioning their books. At every 
age the vitality of the whole process depends 
upon that quiet turning over of facts and reflec- 
tions in the mind. Perhaps even the mental state 
known as "wool-gathering" in men who study 
much, is as truly a result of the process of diges- 
tion in the mind as the bodily torpor sometimes 
following a full meal is associated with the 
labours of the stomach. 

If these be truths, it is not hard to see how 
possible it is that three hours a day spent in the 
mere feeding on facts may be of six times more 
value than six hours so spent, if the facts learnt 
in the shorter time be fairly dwelt upon during 
the intervals of feeding. The medical student, 
even in the strength of his youth, is made to 
feel tiiat three lectures a day that is to say, 
a three hours' supply of naked facts are as much 
as ne can honestly digest ; more work than they 
afibrd to his mind is cram, for which though it 
may make a prize animal of him and get iiim 

44 [October 20, 18600 


[Conducted by 

famously through two or three years of compe- 
tition he is in the end weaker of wit. The 
scholar who is crowding information into his 
head all the day long, is of no use to his fellows 
except as a compiler, and he compiles badly; 
while the scholar who spends only a few hours 
a day in the acquisition of fresh knowledge, and 
gives all the rest of his time to fair bodily and 
mental exercise, can get through twelve, or at a 
pinch, even sixteen hours of the mental work 
by which his fellows are most truly benefited. 
The distinction is a wide one, in mind as in 
body, between feeding that supports and in- 
creases the strength, and the real use and exer- 
cise of the strength so maintained. There are 
plenty of books printed by men who throw their 
time away on each extreme. Some cram, their 
brains but never use them; others use their 
brains but never feed them. 

The hurt of competitive examinations among 
students, and especially among students who 
have passed their boyhood, is, that they are too 
commonly made tests rather of memory than of 
intelligence. They are based on the long accepted 
dictum that young people have not to think, but 
to fill their minds with facts taken for granted. 
Whoever can show recollection of the greatest 
number of such facts, or of the reasonings of 
othei people, which he has been taught in the 
same manner to take without question and re- 
peat by rote, is the prize wit in whom examiners 
delight : though they know well that memory is 
no sign of intelligence, and has indeed not sel- 
dom been found strong where the higher powers 
of the mind are undeveloped. But the compul- 
sion to remember or be plucked, is at this day 
forcing teachers and learners to feel that there 
is no time for the deliberate study which aims 
only at producing vigour of intellect. The 
thing wanted, is power to turn facts to good ac- 
count, not transfer of the facts themselves in a 
great heap into the mind out of the books in 
which they can be kept on a shelf ready for use 
as easily as drugs in jars. We make a doctor 
of a man by teaching him to use drugs, not by 
forcing him to carry them about upon his back. 
Examinations of students, as they are com- 
monly conducted, have their good side, but 
their bad side is that they offer premiums rather 
upon repletion than on power. It is a vile 
comparison, but not entirely an untrue one, to 
compare them with a trial of bodily strength, in 
which, instead of a fair test of the power of 
endurance in running, leaping, hurling, wrestling, 
every candidate should be required to cram him- 
self till he could cram no more, and then, basins 
being set before the competitors, the praise 
were to be to him who cast up most. 

Much that we have here said, may be illus- 
trated by the unexpected success of a system of 
instruction founded without any particular re- 
ference to views like these. The secretary of a 
great educational institution in the heart of 
London saw outside its doors of an evening 
young men set free from hours of business in 
government offices, counting-houses and else- 

their own education if they could ; and within 
the building he saw all appliances for systematic 
education locked up in deserted lecture-rooms. 
He urged his views on the proper authorities, 
and so it came to pass, four or five years ago, 
that the evening classes at King's College were 
established. The success of the experiment has 
far exceeded every expectation. loung men, 
generally between the ages of twenty and thirty, 
flock to the classes, in numbers rapidly increasing 
session after session, and, after the routine work 
of their day, apply themselves for one or two, 
seldom for so much as three hours, to the re- 
ception of direct teaching. This involves, of 
course, the application of spare time to inde- 
pendent preparation and reflection, but until 
last year the college itself was thrown open 
only for two hours on five evenings, as now only 
for three hours in five evenings of the week, 
and they suffice. The students in these classes 
face the lecturers with an energy of thoughtful 
work, and make advances upon which nobody 
had calculated when the plan was first esta- 
blished. Where there was one class receiving 
two lectures a week upon one branch of study, 
there are now four classes, or even six. In four 
years there has been fourfold increase of the 
classes first established ; and new classes for the 
study of Natural Philosophy, of Political Eco- 
nomy, of Italian, and so forth, have been de- 
manded. Of each subject there is elementary 
teaching, and in most there is a demand also for 
the highest forms of knowledge. There are 
students of mathematics busying themselves 
with the differential calculus, and the abstruser 
refinements of that science ; there are students 
of English, studying difficult, problems of philo- 
logy, and creating out of their own healthy 
spirit of inquiry a demand for the addition that 
has just been made to the department of an 
Anglo-Saxon class. The evening classes have in 
fact outnumbered other departments of the col- 
lege, and have become an evening college in which 
men, somewhat older than those who attend in 
the morning, work as occasional students at par- 
ticular subjects, or, as regular matriculated stu- 
dents, don the cap and gown, go through full 
courses of study, earning college distinctions, and 
obtaining at Burlington House all being done 
during the spare time between hours of office 
work their University degrees. The high 
average of power shown by these men, and their 
unfaltering attention, are, of course, owing in 
some measure to their greater age and to the 
common bond of earnestness implied in the fact 
that each of them has paid his own money, out 
of his own earnings, for the information he re- 
ceives. It is said to be a literal fact that during 
these four or five years in a department which 
last winter numbered five hundred and fifty 
students, no class has once been disturbed by 
active thoughtlessness or the most distant ap- 
proach to misconduct. 

Assuredly, these good results depend in a 
great measure upon the fact that there is brought 
into every class-room, freshness of attention. 

where, willing to carry on steadily the work of | The pouring in of information and suggestion 

Charlei Dlkni.J 


[October*), I960. J 45 

lasts for three hours at most ; few attend more 
than two classes on one evening ; and there are 
no lectures at all on Saturday. All information 
goes, therefore, only to the satisfying of a healthy 
appetite, and (here is ample time for each meal 
of study to be digested^ properly, before the 
iu'\t is taken. The eight or ten lectures a week 
thus actually give more of sound training to 
those who attend them, than they would have 
had from attendance upon eight or ten lectures 
a day. 


OUR readers have recently had daguerreotyped 
for them a portrait of " Rome the Eternal" by a 
pen skilled to reproduce every outline of form, 
and each light and shade of character visible 
there to an observant eye. The present writer 
can, from his own personal knowledge, offer an 
independent testimony to the accuracy of the 
picture drawn by his unknown fellow-contri- 
butor to these columns. It was the perusal of 
that truthful description which suggested the 
desirability of placing before the English public 
an equally truthful, and, as far as his powers 
will permit, an equally accurate presentation of 
another Italian city ; not being induced thereto 
by any pretension of producing a "pendant" to 
the former canvas, but by the consideration that 
a comparative estimate of the leading Italian 
cities, and especially of the two to which we are 
here referring, is, at the present moment, and 
under the circumstances which are on the eve 
of being completed, a matter of urgent and im- 
portant interest. 

The kingdom of Italy will shortly take its 
place among the members of the European 
family of nations. There is still room for the 
speculations of politicians as to the more or less 
of difficulty and struggle which may precede 
and attend the birth of the new kingdom, and 
for dissertations on the greater or less amount 
of ill will and jealousy with which the new 
comer will be regarded by several of its elder 
sisters. But, doubts as to the safe delivery of 
this new birth of time are already out of date. 
Like it or dislike it who may few or many 
lives, and little or much sacrifice and suffering 
as the achievement may cost Italy will shortly 
be an independent and united nation under the 
constitutional sceptre of Victor Emmanuel, first 
King of Italy. And this kingdom of Italy will 
have a capital. And the choice of this capital 
is a matter of infinite importance to Italy, and 
of no small interest to Europe. Absolutists 
and friends native and foreign of the fallen and 
falling tyrannies which divided the peninsula 
among them, are already speculating eagerly on 
the consequences of discord on this point, which 
they deem must needs arise from the selfishness 
and want of patriotism of the different cities, 
each wont to lead the life of a capital, and each 
worthy of being the capital of a nation. They 
will be disappointed. They may dismiss all hope 
of seeing Italy risk the loss of all she has gained, 

and all she so dearly prizes, by suicidal quarrels 
on any such subject. There will doubtless be 
differences of opinion on the point, and there 
will be need of mature consideration (though 
much has already, it may be observed in pass- 
ing, been given to the subject by several of 
the leading minds in Italy) ; but there will be 
no quarrelling. 

It may be considered that, numerous as are 
the cities which might, from their former rank 
and importance, fairly make pretension to supre- 
macy, the choice, in fact, lies between Rome 
and Florence. Turin would prefer to be itself 
the capital of Italy. But if this cannot be (and 
even the Torinese themselves feel that it can- 
not be), then Turin would prefer that Florence 
should be raised to the vacant throne. Pre- 
cisely similar sentiments prevail at Milan. The 
question, in short, maybe assumed to be narrowed 
to a choice between the Eternal City and the 
City of Flowers. Let us examine a little, their 
comparative claims. 

Those of Rome appeal irresistibly to the 
sympathies of imaginative minds nourished on 
classical associations and reminiscences. There 
is also, of course, a class of persons to whom 
the ecclesiastical supremacy of papal Rome will 
seem to constitute a claim to civil pre-eminence. 
But, sentiment of this kind is very much more 
common northward of the Alps than in Italy; 
and it is assuredly not on such grounds that 
the Italians will choose their new capital. The 
Rome which exercises a potent spell by the 
greatness of its name on the imaginations of 
many Italians, is not papal, but imperial and 
pagan Rome: the Rome which once boasted 
itself the capital of the civilised world. And it 
is hardly necessary to expend a word in pointing 
out how little papal Rome, especially the papal 
Rome of the nineteenth century, has in common 
with the mighty "nominis umbra" which ex- 
ercises this fascination; or to insist on the 
absurdity of proceeding to the eminently prac- 
tical business of selecting a capital for the young 
nation under the influence of a sentimental en- 
thusiasm not only so empty, but so utterly de- 
lusive. The practical ana insuperable oujec- 
tions which exist to making Rome the capital 
of the new constitutional monarchy may be 
briefly stated. 

It is, and, as far as can be at present foreseen, 
it is likely for some time further to remain, the 
residence of the Pope. And this fact alone is 
felt by the great majority of Italians to be an 
absolutely fatal objection. Those who bear in 
mind the nature of papal influence, its modus 
operaudi, and the impossibility of suddenly eject- 
ing it from the old paths, will comprehend at 
once the insuperable nature of the difficulty, 
which would alone be sufficient to decide the 
question, if it were seconded by no others. 

But in the next place the climate of Rome 
is a fatal objection to it. What would be 
sai>l of the wisdom of wittingly selecting for 
the capital city of a great nation, a spot in 
which, during six months ot the year, none save 
natives acclimatised from their infancy can re- 

46 [October 20, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

main without danger to life ? And this when 
the most effectual means for welding together 
in one homogeneous whole, the different peoples 
of the Italian family will consist in the con- 
course at the capital which the necessities of 
representative government occasion and pro- 
mote ; when the sole agency by which all that 
is best in each of the widely differing races of 
the peninsula can be selected and preserved, 
and all that each has of bad can be diminished 
and eradicated, will be the social mixing in the 
capital arising from those necessities, and the 
active propagandism of ideas and habits which 
a society so constituted in the capital would ex- 
ercise in the remotest corners of the kingdom. 

Either of the .reasons above stated would 
amply suffice for setting aside the mere poetical 
claims of the great "nominis umbra," which has, 
at all events in our own day, so balefully over- 
shadowed all that has stagnated and rotted 
beneath its upas-tree shelter. But there are 
others which will suggest themselves readily 
to the readers of that picture of the Eternal 
City above referred to, and which may be further 
illustrated by contrasting them with the charac- 
teristics of the Tuscan candidate for the promo- 

In the days when every Italian city had an 
independent life and social characteristics of its 
own, each of the fair sisterhood was familiarly 
known by some special epithet appropriated to 
it, as compendiously descriptive ot its peculiar 
charms and idiosyncrasy. Rome, as all the 
world knows, was " the Eternal ;" Naples, " la 
bella ;" Genoa, " la superba ;" Lucca, " la in- 
dustriosa ;" Padua, " la dotta ;" and Bologna, 
"la grassa," &c. And Naples the beautiful, 
Genoa the superb, Lucca the industrious, Padua 
the learned, and Bologna the fat, were deemed, 
not only by their own inhabitants but by the 
general consent of Italy, to merit these special 
distinctions. And Florence, in many respects 
the noblest of them all, what was the peculiar 
characteristic of fair Florence? "Firenze la 
gentile" was the style and title accorded by 
universal consent to the city which historians 
have designated as the most republican of re- 
publics ; and the qualities expressed by the term 
are readily recognised to be especially character- 
istic of the " city of fair flowers and flower of 
fair cities " by those who know her well. But 
the complete sense of the word is not so readily 
rendered by any one English adjective as in the 
case of the epithets applied to other cities which 
have been quoted. The reader will have seen at 
once that the word " gentile " is etymologically 
equivalent to our adjective genteel. But, apart 
from the disagreeable vulgarity which the cant 
use of this unlucky word has stamped it with, 
" genteel " in its best day only partially con- 
veyed the ideas comprised in the Italian word 
[' gentile." In the mouth of an Italian the 
idea expressed by it includes all the amenities 
and agreeabilities, which result from a high state 
of civilisation and social culture. It is of all 
words that which most completely expresses 
what is in truth the especial quality of Florence 

and the Florentines, and never was epithet more 
happily applied. The population of Florence 
does manifest assuredly more than that of any 
other city of Italy, perhaps more than that of 
any city in the world, the results of long and 
highly cultivated civilisation. Of course such a 
statement will seem monstrous to Londoners 
or Parisians; but I think that, even bearing 
in mind all the triumphs of tho&e rival centres of 
the civilised world, what I have said may be 
maintained. I have not said, be it observed, that 
Florence is a more civilised capital than London, 
or that a Florentine is a more civilised man. 
than a Londoner. Guizot defines civilisation to 
be progress ; not badly perhaps. And assuredly 
Florence can lay no claim to rivalry with the 
great centres of movement in that respect. But 
she possesses a more universally diffused result 
of former high civilisation. Her people are in a 
more marked degree the product of a long ances- 
try of highly civilised forefathers. The habits 
and modes of feeling of the population supply a 
curious confirmation of the truth of old Ovid's 

Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feroa. 

To have well studied the liberal arts softens 
the character, and prevents men from being 
brutal ; prevents even their descendants for a 
long time from becoming so ; for, though the 
" faithful " study of art may be more a thing of 
the past than of the present in Florence, it is 
impossible not to recognise the humanising 
effects on this people of a traditional as well as 
organic love for, and appreciation of, the beauti- 
ful. A Florentine, of whatsoever class, is never 
brutal ; he is rarely vulgar. He is often insin- 
cere, and not unfrequently dishonest ; for princes 
and priests have through many a generation 
perseveringly and consistently striven to educate 
him to falsehood and fraud. But he is in these 
respects assuredly no worse than the popula- 
tions of other Italian cities ; similar causes 
have, in them also, been at work to produce simi- 
lar results. When these causes shall have been 
removed entirely, as they have been in great 
part removed already, the lapse of one genera- 
tion will suffice to efface the consequences of 
their evil teaching. But the lapse of many 
generations has not availed to destroy the essen- 
tially social nature, the love of order, and the re- 
spect for law, which have been the product of 
those happier previous centuries when each 
citizen had his part in the making of the laws he 
was called on to obey. 

The old civic nurture crops out remarkably 
also in that special courteousness and good 
breeding which has helped to gain for Florence 
the epithet of " la gentile." It is not too much 
to say, that when, after having been accustomed 
for some time to the manners of the Tuscan 
people, one is brought into contact with other 
populations, whether Italian or on the northern 
side of the Alps, the world seems suddenly to 
have become full of angles and roughnesses. 
The universal and rarely failing good humour of 
the people of Florence contributes much also, it 

Cb.fl,. Dlokni. J 


[October JO, im] 47 

is true, to this result, which is the case to a de- 
iiai tlioM; who have never experienced it 
will scarcely belicre. This good humour may 
he referred by physiologists to climate, food, 
race, or whatever cause may to their wisdom 
i capable of producing it ; but it is unde- 
niably a very valuable portion of a Tuscan man 
or woman's iulicritaii 

Another mode, in which the fruits of the old 
civic civilisation manifest themselves, is in the 
lad that crimes of violence we almost wholly 
unknown in Tuscany ; with the exception, per- 
haps, it ought to be added, of Leghorn, the 
peculiar ami mixed population of which, ciiv 
places it in u category apart from the rest of 
Tuscany. This habitual aversion to violence 
has beea attributed, very unfairly, to want of 
manhood, end-fry, and courage. But such a 
taunt is out, of date now. Since Curtatpne, 
the Tuscan Thermopylae, and the recent doings 
of the Tuscan volunteers in Sicily and Naples, 
we shall not hear much more of Tuscan inability 
to take a good man's part in the roughest work 
that may be needed. Besides, the use of the 
stiletto has not generally been held to denote 
manliness or courage in the bravo who makes 
street corners unsafe in the dark hours. Cowards 
cau hate, and can find safe means of gratifying 
hat red ; but assassination is as entirely unknown 
in Tuscany as open violence. 

It is needless to insist at length on the truly 
incalculable importance to the future kingdom 
of Italy of this deep-dyed, ingrained civilisation 
in the people of its capital. We all know how 
wide and deep is the influence exercised on the 
manners of a nation by those of its chief city, 
especially in the case of people ruled by repre- 
sentative government. In despotisms, the ca- 
pital, with an unhealthy and mischievous action, 
attracts to itself and absorbs the best energies 
and capabilities of the nation ; and though it is 
the cynosure of provincial eyes, it fails, for 
want of a reflux of the tide, in exercising a 
civilising influence on the provinces. In a re- 
presentative government, on the contrary, the 
ebb and flow to and from the capital, healthfully 
circulates the social life-blood through the 
system ; the civilisation of the chief city acts 
powerfully on the remotest portions of the body 
politic. That Italian manners and social ideas 
should be assimilated to those of Florence 
rather than to those of Rome, would be worth 
to the nation, starting on its path of progress, 
a good century of advance. 

A consideration of the causes of this supe- 
riority of the Tuscan civilisation has also an im- 
portant bearing on the question in hand. We 
are told much of the grand memories and asso- 
ciations connected with the great name of Rome. 
If by these are meant the old classic glories of 
republican and imperial Rome, the well-known 
topics of the great historians and poets whose 
works form the earliest and unforgotten associa- 
tions of the schoolboy days of all educated 
Europe, then one has to observe simply that 
those pagan times and that society are so far 
removed as to exercise no sort of influence 

on the Roman world of the Christian period ; 
removed, not only by distance of time, and 
diversity of religion and civilisation, but cut 
off from all connexion with modern Rome 
by the great cataclysm of the barbarian irrup- 
tion. Even were it not so even were there 
unbroken continuity of the old civilisation- 
even granting that the eloquence of an honour- 
able member for Syracuse, or for Susa, might be 
warmed by the consciousness that he was speak- 
ing on the spot where Cicero spoke even then 
it would be questionable or rather it would 
not be a question at all whether it would be 
desirable to inspire Italy's Re galantuomo the 
honest king with ideas drawn from the exem- 
plar of Augustus ; to hold up to the national 
guards, the praetorian guards as a model ; or to 
encourage the senate to gather its precedents 
from the traditions of the senators of the em- 

But if, on the other hand, those who invoke 
these " mighty memories" are thinking of any 
period in the history of papal Rome, or of any 
of the " glories" of the " capital of Christen- 
dom," it must be replied that, even admitting 
it to be a moot point whether the influence of 
the vast system whose centre and head were at 
Rome may not have been, at certain epochs 
and in certain respects, more beneficial than 
harmful to Europe, it assuredly was never any. 
thing to Italy but a fountain-head of barbarism, 
and an obstacle to every principle of civilisation. 
While civism at Florence was laying down the 
deep foundations of the principles of modern 
liberty, feudalism and sacerdotalism at Rome 
were engendering and perpetuating the most 
unimprovable barbarism, and educating the 
people to a savagery which no after time has 
yet availed wholly to efface. Turbulence and 
violence were then universal throughout Italy ; 
but in Florence, the violence and the turbulence 
were the struggles and the stumblings of a 
people painfully striving to accomplish the high 
and arduous feat of orderly self-government: 
while the turbulence and violence at Rome were 
due to the imbecility of a galling yet undis- 
puted despotism, and the anti-social excesses of 
ruflkn barons. The violences of Giano della 
Bella were the throes attending the birth of 
principles and ideas yet fruitful in the popular 
Florentine mind. The excesses of the Orsini 
and Colonna were the brutalising assertion of 
the supremacy of lawless force fruitful this 
also, even to the present day, in the popular 
mind at Rome. 

There are several other reasons for selecting 
the city of flowers, and flower of cities, as the 
Florentines love to call their gentile Firenze, 
to be the future capital of Italy. These, though 
they may appear to many to be more weighty 
grounds of choice than that which I have been 
insisting on, may be stated more compendiously. 
To my own mind no consideration is of greater 
importance than the admitted and special cha- 
racteristics of the population. 

Of all the cities on which the choice conld 
fall, Florence is the most central. It is true 



[October 30, I860.] 

that if the number of miles from the foot of the 
Alps to the toe of the boot were measured, 
Rome might be found nearer to the middle of 
such a line. But, if the centre of the popula- 
tion, instead of that of the soil be sought and 
it is of course this which is required Florence 
would be found to come nearer to the require- 
ment. All the miles to be travelled by the re- 
presentatives of the kingdom in coming to their 
parliamentary duties, would be fewer if the ca- 
pital were at Florence than if it were at Rome. 

In the next place, Florence is very favourably 
placed in a military point of view. It is from 
its position more secure from a hostile coup de 
main than any of its rival sisters. And to many 
minds, this will appear not the least of its nu- 
merous advantages. 

Then again, in point of climate and sanitary 
considerations, it fairly bears the bell among all 
the first-class cities of Italy. The death rate 
is more favourable than in any of them ; and 
the medical statistics indicate, with regard to all 
the great classes of disease which chiefly shorten 
and destroy life, that the prevalence of them in 
Florence is below the average. 

There still remains to be mentioned one of 
the most important considerations ; many people 
will say, the most important of all. If Italy 
wills to be a homogeneous and united nation, it 
is exceedingly desirable that it should have a 
homogeneous and single language. Few, per- 
haps, save those who have dwelt much in Italy, 
are aware of the degree to which the want of 
such a language extends. It is not merely that 
the Piedmontese, the Lombard, the Venetian, 
the Bolognese, and the Neapolitan populace 
speak all of them dialects mutually unintelligible, 
and all equally unlike the language of Italian 
literature ; but even the educated classes in all 
these districts often are unable, and always are 
unwilling, to use any but their own provincial 

" You have had a great treat," said I once to 
an Italian friend in Paris, who had been sitting 
at dinner by the side of a very distinguished 
exile, and talking all the time as fast as their 
tongues could go, "you have had the great 
treat of a good bout of Italian talk." " Much 
better than that," was the reply, " we have been 
talking Milanese." The true delight of these 
two compatriot exiles meeting on a foreign soil 
was to hear the dear abominable jargon which 
brought back to their recollections the drawing- 
rooms and promenades of Milan. 

It is needless to spend a word in insisting on 
the supreme importance to the newly-born 
nation of putting an end to this diversity of 
tongues ; the importance of it to the literature, 
to the forensic and legislative eloquence, and 
even to the social progress, of the nation. And 
it is equally unnecessary to point out the well 
of pure and undefiled Italian. Lombards, Ro- 
mans, Neapolitans, all consider themselves co- 
heirs of the Tuscan literature. But if Dante 

is to be an Italian ^and not a Tuscan glory, the 
" bel paese ove il si suona" must not be confined 
to the banks of the Arno. In fact, Florence is, 
and indefeasibly must be, the intellectual, lite- 
rary, and educational capital of Italy. And 
how far more completely and efficiently it could 
exercise its functions as such for the 'benefit of 
the nation, if it be also the political and social 
capital, must be evident to every one. 

Finally, there is one other consideration, which, 
though of less political or social importance than 
those which have been spoken of, is yet worthy 
of being taken into account. No city in Italy 
unless it be poor, hapless, lone Venice has 
such a provision of public buildings as Florence. 
And they, indeed, are stored with associations 
which may be invoked to some good purpose. If 
there is on the face of the earth one spot which 
more than another may be deemed the veritable 
cradle of modern European liberty, it is that 
noble old " Hall of the Five Hundred," in the 
Palazzo Vecchio, at Florence. Should that be 
selected as the chamber of meeting of a new 
Five Hundred, chosen from all Italy to uphold 
the principles once maintained there by five 
hundred Florentine citizens, there would hardly 
be among them a " soul so dead" as not to feel 
his patriotism exalted and his eloquence warmed, 
by the mute witnesses looking down on him from 
the pictured walls which have re-echoed the brave 
words of so many generations of free citizens. 

It would be tedious to enter on a long cata- 
logue of the noble edifices, such as any capital 
in Europe might be proud of, which adorn every 
part of Florence. Those who have ever seen 
them will admit, not only that their abundance 
is such as to offer ready provision for well- 
nigh every need of the chief city of a great 
people, but what is of more consequence that 
the style and character of their architecture is 
such as worthily to represent the grand and 
severe majesty of a free people. 

Nature and art, past history and present con- 
venience, agree in designating the city of flowers 
and flower of cities, Firenze la gentile, as the 
capital of Italy. There is good reason to be- 
lieve that most of the best heads and most in 
fluential men in Italy have come to the con- 
clusion that such is the case. There can be no 
doubt that if the question were to be settled 
after the fashion of the election of the Greek 
general of old, by the majority of second votes of 
all the candidates, fair Florence would come out 
of the scrutiny without a black ball. 

Now ready, price 5s. 6d., bound in cloth, 




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BREAKFAST over, I took a walk through the 
town. Though in a measure prepared for a 
scene of unbustling quietude and tranquillity, I 
must own that the air of repose around far sur- 
passed all I had imagined. The streets through 
which I sauntered were grass-grown and un- 
trodden; the shops were but half open; not an 
equipage, nor even a horseman was to be seen. 
In the Platz, where a sort of fruit-market was 
held, a few vendors of grapes, peaches, and 
melons sat under large crimson umbrellas, but 
there seemed few purchasers, except a passing 
schoolboy, carefully scanning the temptations in 
which he was about to invest his kreutzer. 

The most remarkable feature of the place, 
however, and U is one which through a certain 
significance has always held its place in my 
memory, was that, go where one would, the 
palace of the grand-duke was sure to finish 
the view at one extremity of the street. In 
fact, every alley converged to this one centre, 
and the royal residence stood like the governor's 
chamber in a panopticon gaol. There did my 
mind for many a day picture him sitting like a 
huge spider watching the incautious insects that 
permeated his web. I imagined him fat, indo- 
lent, and apathetic, but yet with a gaoler's in- 
stincts, ever mindful of every stir ana movement 
of the prisoners below. With a very ordinary 
telescope he must be master of everything that 
went on, and the humblest incident could not 
escape his notice. Was it the consciousness of 
this surveillance that made every one keep the 
house ? Was it the feeling that the " Gross 
ogliche" eye never left them, that prevented 
men being abroad in the streets and about their 
affairs as in other places ? I half suspected this, 
and set to work imagining a state of society 
thus scanned and scrutinised. But that the 
general aspect of the town so palpably pro- 
claimed the absence of all trade ana industry, 
I might have compared the whole to a glass 
hive ; but they were all drones that dwelt there, 
1 here was not one " busy bee" in the whole of 

While I rambled thus carelessly along, I came 
in front of a sort of garden fenced from the 
street by an iron railing. The laurel, and ar- 
butus, and even the oleander, were there, grace- 

fully blending a varied foliage, and contrasting 
in their luxuriant liberty so pleasantly with the 
dull uniformity outside. Finding a gate wide 
open, I strolled in and gave myself up to the 
delicious enjoyment of the spot. As I was de- 
liberating whether this was a public garden or 
not, I found myself before a long, low, villa- 
like building, with a colonnade in front. Over 
the entrance was a large shield, which on nearer 
approach I recognised to contain the arms of 
England. This, therefore, was the legation, 
the residence of our minister, Sir Shalley 
Doubleton. I felt a very British pride and 
satisfaction to see our representative lodged so 
splendidly. With all the taxpayer's sentiment 
in my heart, I rejoiced to think that he who 
personated the nation should, in all his belong- 
ings, typify the wealth, the style, and the 
grandeur of England, and in the ardour of this 
enthusiasm I hastened back to the inn for the 

Armed with this, and a card, I soon presented 
myself at the door. On the card I had written, 
" Mr. Pottinger presents his respectful compli- 
ments, and requests his excellency will favour 
him with an audience of a few minutes for an 

I had made up my mind to state that my 
servant, in removing my smaller luggage from 
the train, had accidentally carried off this Foreign- 
office bag, which, though at considerable incon- 
venience, I had travelled much out of my way 
to restore in person. I had practised this ex- 
planation as I dressed in the morning, I had 
twice rehearsed it to an orange-tree in the 
garden, before which I had bowed till my back 
ached, and I fancied myself perfect in my part. 
It would, 1 confess, have been a great relief to 
me to have had only the slightest knowledge of 
the great personage before whom I was about 
to present myself, to have known was he short 
or tall, young or old, solemn or easy-mannered, 
had he a loud voice and an imperious tone, or 
was he of the soft and silky order of his craft. 
I'd have willingly entertained his " gentleman" 
at a moderate repast for some information on 
these points, but there was no time for the 
inquiry, and so I rang boldly at the bell. The 
door opened of itself at the summons, and I 
found myself in a large hall with a plaster cast 
of the Laocoon, and nothing else. I tried several 
of the doors on either side, but they were all 
locked. A very handsome and spacious stair of 

VOL. rv. 


50 [Octobers?, 1SCO.] 


[Conducted by 

white marble led up from the middle of the hall, 
but I hesitated about venturing to ascend this, 
and once more repaired to the bell outside, and 
repeated my summons. The loud clang re-echoed 
through the arched hall, the open door gave a 
responsive shake, and that was all. No one 
came ; everything was still as before. I was 
rather chagrined at this. The personal incon- 
venience was less offensive than the feeling how 
foreigners would comment on such want of pro- 
priety, what censures they would pass on such 
an ill-arranged household. I rang again, this 
time with an energy that made the door strike 
some of the plaster from the wall, and, with a 
noise like cannon, " What the hangman" I 
am translating " is all this ?" cried a voice 
thick with passion ; and en looking up I saw a 
rather elderly man, with a quantity of curly 
yellow hair, frowning savagely on me from 
the balcony over the stair. He made no sign 
of coming down, but gazed sternly at me from 
his eminence. 

"Can I see his excellency the minister?" 
said I, with dignity. 

" Not if you stop down there, not if you con- 
tinue to ring the bell like an alarm for fire, not 
if you won't take the trouble to comeup-stairs." 

I slowly began the ascent at these words, pon- 
dering what sort of a master such a mau must 
needs have. As I gained the top, I found myself 
in front of a very short, very fat man, dressed 
in a suit of striped gingham, like an over ple- 
thoric zebra, and "wheezing painfully, in pail 
from asthma, in part from agitation. He began 
again : 

" "What the hangman do you mean by such a 
row ? Have you no manners, no education ? 
Where were you brought up that you enter a 
dwelling-house like a city in storm ?" 

" Who is this insolent creature that dares to 
address me in this wise ? What ignorant menial 
can have so far forgotten my rank and his insig- 
nificance ?" 

" I'll tell you all that presently," said he ; 
" there's his excellency's bell." And he bustled 
away, as fast as his unwieldy size would permit, 
to his master's room. 

I was outraged and indignant. There was I, 
Potts no, Pottinger Algernon Sydney Pot- 
tinger on my way to Italy and Greece, turning 
from my direct road to consign, with safety a 
despatch-bag which many a less conscientious 
man would have chucked out of his carriage 
window and forgotten there I stood to be in- 
sulted by a miserable stone-polishiug, floor-scrub- 
bing, carpet-twigging Hausknecht ! Was this to 
be borne ? was it to be endured ? Was a man 
of station, family, and attainments, to be the 
object of such indignity ?" 

Just as I had uttered this speech aloud, a very 
gentle voice addressed me, saying : 

"Perhaps I can assist you? Will you be 
good enough to say what you want ?" 

I started suddenly, looked up, and whom should 
I see before me but that Miss Herbert, the beau- 
tiful girl iu deep mourning that I had met at 
Milford, and who now, in tiie same pale loveli- 

ness, turned on me a look of kind and gentle 

"Do you remember me?" said I, eagerly. 
*' Do you remember the traveller a pale young 
man, with a Glengary cap and a plaid overcoat 
who met you at Milford?" 

" Perfectly," said she, with a slight twitch 
about the mouth like a struggle against a smile. 
" Will you allow me to repay you now for your 
politeness then? Do you wish to see his excel- 

I'm not very sure what it was I replied, but I 
know well what was passing through my head. 
If my thoughts could have spoken, it would have 
been in this wise : 

" Angel of loveliness, I don't care a brass far- 
thing for his excellency. It is not a matter of 
the slightest moment to me if I ever set eyes on 
him. Let me but speak to you, tell you the deep 
impression you have made upon my heart ; how, 
in my ardour to serve you, I have already been, 
involved in an altercation that might have cost 
me my life; how I still treasure up the few 
minutes I passed beside you as the Elysian dream 
of all my life " 

"I arn certain, sir," broke she in while I 
spoke I repeat, I know not what " I am cer- 
tain, sir, that you never came here to mention 
all this to his excellency." 

There was a severe gravity in the way that she 
said these words tliat recalled me to myself, but 
not to any consciousness of what I had been 
saying ; and so, in my utter discomfiture, I blun- 
dered out something about the lost despatches 
and the cause of my coming. 

" If you'll wait a moment here," said she, 
opening a door into a neatly furnished room, 
" his excellency shall hear of your wish to see 
him." And before I could answer, she was 

I was now alone, but in what wild perplexity 
and anxiety ! How came she here ? What 
could be the meaning of her presence in this 
place ? The minister was an unmarried man, so 
much my host had told me. How then reconcile 
this fact with the presence of one who had left 
England but a few days ago, as some said, to be 
a governess or a companion ? Oh, the agony of 
my doubts, the terrible agony of my dire mis- 
givings ! What a world of iniquity do we live 
in, what vice and corruption are ever around us ! 
It was but a year or two ago, I remember, that 
the Times newspaper had exposed the nefarious 
schemes of a wretch who had deliberately in- 
vented a plan to entrap those most unprotected 
of all females. The adventures of this villain 
had become part of the police literature of 
Europe. Young and attractive creatures, in- 
duced to come abroad by promises of the most 
seductive kind, had been robbed by this man of 
all they possessed, and deserted here and there 
throughout the Continent. I was so horror- 
stricken by the terrors my mind had so suddenly 
conjured up, that I could not acquire the calm 
and coolness requisite for a process of reasoning. 
My over-active imagination, as usual, went oil' 
with me, clearing obstacles with a sweeping 

Chxrle* Dkkeiu.] 


[October 17. 1800.] 51 

stride, and steeple-chasing through fact as though 
it were only a gallop over grass land. 

"Poor ^irl, well miub; you look confused 
and i ::.,' mo ! well might the 

flush (if shame have spread o?er your iieck and 
shoulders, and well might you have hurried 
away froui the presence of one who had known 
you in the days of your happy innocence !" I'm 
not sure that I didu't imagine I had been her 
playfellow in childhood, and that we had been 
brought, up from infancy together. My mind 
then addressed itself to the practical question, 
"What was to be done ? Was I to turn my head 
away while this iniquity was being enacted? 
was I to go on my way forgetting the seeds of 
that misery whose terrible fruits must one day 
be a shame and an open ignominy ? or was I to 
arraign this man, great and exalted as he was, 
and say to him, " Is it thus you represent before 
the eyes of the foreigner the virtues of that 
England we boast to be the model of all morality ? 
Is it thus you illustrate the habits of your order ? 
Do you dare to profane what, by the fiction of 
diplomacy, is called the soil of your country, by 
a life tliat you dare not pursue at home ? The 
Parliament shall hear of it, the Times shall 
ring with it ; that magnificent institution, the 
common sense of England, long sick of what is 
called secret diplomacy, shall learn at last to 
what uses are applied the wiles and snares of 
tliis deceitful crait, its extraordinary and its pri- 
vate missions, its hurried messengers with their 
bags of corruption " 

1 was well " ino my work," and going along 
slappingly, when a very trim footman, in a nan- 
keen jacket, said : 

" If you will come this way, sir, his excellency 
will see you." 

He led me through three or four salons hand- 
somely furnished and ornamented with pictures, 
the most conspicuous of which, in each room, was 
a life-sized portrait of the same gentleman, 
though iu a different costume now in the Wind- 
sor uniform, now as a Guardsman, and, lastly, in 
the full dress of the diplomatic order. I had but 
time to guess that this must be his excellency, 
when the servant announced me and retired. 

It is in deep shame that I own that the aspect 
of the princely apartments, the silence, the im- 
plied awe of the footman's subdued words UD he 
spoke, had so routed all my intentions about 
calling his excellency to account, that I stood 
iu his presence timid and abashed. It is an 
ignoble confession wrung out of the very heart 
of ray snobbery, that no sooner did I liud my- 
bcfore that thin, pale, grey-headed man, 
who, in a light silk dressing-gown and slippers, 
sat writing away, than I gave up my brief and 
inwardly resigned my place as a counsel for in- 
jured innocence. 

He never raised his head as I entered, but 
continued his occupation without noticing me, 
muttering below his breath the words as they 
fell from his pen. " Take a seat," said he curtly, 
at last. Perceiving now that he was fully aware 
of my presence, I sat down without reply. " This 
bag 'is late, Mr. Payuter," said he, blandly, 

as he laid down his pen and looked me in- the 

" Your excellency will permit me, in limine, 
to observe that my name is not Payntcr." 

"Possibly, sir," said he haughtily; "but 
you are evidently before me for the nrst time, 
or you would know that, like ray great colleague 
and friend, Prince Mettcrnich, I nave made it a 
rule through life never to burden my memory 
with whatever can be spared it, and of these 
are the patronymics of all subordinate people ; 
for this reason, sir, and to this end, every cook 
in my establishment answers to the name of 
Honored my valet is always Pierre, my coachman 
Jacob, my groom is Charles, and all foreign mes- 
sengers t call Pavnter. The original of that 
appellation is, I fancy, superannuated or dead, 
but he lives in some twenty successors who 
carry canvas reticules as well as he." 

" The method may be convenient, sir, but it 
is scarcely complimentary," said I, stiffly. 

"Very convenient," said he, complacently. 
" All consuls I address as Mr. Sloper. You can't 
fail to perceive how it saves time, and I rather 
think that in the end they like it themselves. 
When did you leave town ?" 

" I left on Saturday last. I arrived at Dover 
by the express train, and it was there that the 
incident befel me by which I have now the 
honour to stand before your excellency." 

Instead of bestowing the slightest attention 
on this exordium of mine, he had resumed his 
pen and was writing away glibly as before. 
"Nothing new stirring, when you left ?" said he, 

" Nothing, sir. But to resume my narrative 
of explanation " 

" Come to dinner, Paynter ; we dine at six," 
said he, rising hastily; and, opening a glass 
door into a conservatory, walked away, leaving 
me in a mingled state of shame, anger, humilia- 
tion, and, I will state, of ludicrous embarrass- 
ment, which I have no words to express. 

"Dinner! No," exclaimed I, "if the alter- 
native were a hard crust and a glass of spring 
water ! not if I were to fast till this tune to- 
morrow ! Dine with a man who will not con- 
descend to acknowledge even my identity, who 
will not deign to call me by my name, but only 
consents to regard me as a pebble on the sea- 
shore, a blade of grass in a wide meadow ! Dine 
with him, to be addressed as lr. Paynter, and 
to see Pierre, and Jacob, and the rest of them 
looking on me as one of themselves ! By what 
prescriptive right does this man dare to insult 
those who, for aught he can tell, are more than 
his equals in ability ? Does the accident and 
what other can it be than accident of his station 
confer this privilege ? How would he look if 
one were to retort with his own impertinence ? 
What, for instance, if I were to say, ' I always 
call small diplomatists Bluebottles; you'll not 
be offended if, just for memory's sake, I address 
you as Bluebottle Mr. Bluebottle, of course ?' " 

I was in ecstasies at this thought. It seemed 
to vindicate all my insulted personality, all niy 
outraged and injured identity. "Yes," said I, 

52 [October 27, I960.] 


[Conducted by 

"I will dine with him; six o'clock shall see 
me punctual to the minute, and determined to 
avenge the whole insulted family of the Paynters. 
I defy him to assert that the provocation came 
not from his side. I dare him to show cause 
why I should be the butt of his humour, any 
more than he of mine. I will be prepared to 
make use of his own exact words in repelling 
my impertinence, and say, 'Sir, you have ex- 
actly embodied my meaning; you have to the 
letter expressed what this morning I felt on 
being called Mr. Paynter; you have, besides 
this, had the opportunity of experiencing the 
sort of pain such an impertinence inflicts, and 
you are now in a position to guide you as to 
how far you will persist in it for the future.' " 

I actually revelled in the thought of this re- 
prisal, and longed for the moment to come in 
which, indolently thrown back in my chair, I 
should say, "Bluebottle, pass the Madeira," 
with some comment on the advantage all the 
Bluebottles have in getting their wine duty 
free. Then, with what sarcastic irony I should 
condole with him over his wearisome, dull 
career, eternally writing home platitudes for 
blue-books, making Grotius into bad grammar, 
and vamping up old Puffendorf for popular 
reading. "Ain't you sick of it all, B.-B.?" I 
should say, familiarly ; " is not the unreality of 
the whole thing offensive ? Don't you feel that 
a despatch is a sort of formula in which Madrid 
might be inserted for Moscow, and what was 
said of Naples might be predicated of Norway ?" 
I disputed a long time with myself at what pre- 
cise period of the entertainment I should un- 
mask my battery and open fire. Should it be in 
the drawing-room, before dinner ? Should it be 
immediately after the soup, with the first glass 
of sherry ? Ought I to wait till the dessert, 
and that time when a sort of easy intimacy had 
been established which might be supposed to 
prompt candour and frankness ? Would it not 
be in better taste to defer it till the servants 
had left the room ? To expose him to his 
household seemed scarcely fair. 

These were all knotty points, and I revolved 
them long and carefully, as I came back to my 
hotel, through the same silent street. 


"DON'T keep a place for me at the table 
d'hote to-day, Kramm," said I, in an easy care- 
lessness ; " I dine with his excellency. I couldn't 
well get off the first day, but to-morrow I pro- 
mise you to pronounce upon your good cheer." 

I suppose I am not the first man who has de- 
rived consequence from the invitation it has 
cost him misery to accept. How many in this 
world of snobbery have felt that the one sole 
recompense for long nights of ennui was the 
fact that their names figured amongst the dis- 
tinguished guests in the next day's Post ? 

" It is not a grand dinner to-day, is it ?" 
asked Kramm. 

" No, no, a merely family party ; we are very 
old chums, and have much to talk over." 

" You will then go in plain black, and with 
nothing but your ' decorations-.' " 

"I will wear none," said I, "none; not 
even a ribbon." And I turned away to hide the 
shame and mortification his suggestion had pro- 

Punctually at six o'clock I arrived at the 
legation ; four powdered footmen were in the 
hall, and a decent-looking personage in black 
preceded me up the stairs, and opened the 
double doors into the drawing-room, without, 
however, announcing me, or paying the slightest 
attention" to my mention of " Mr. Pottinger." 

Laying down his newspaper as I entered, his 
excellency came forward with his hand out, and 
though it was the least imaginable touch, and 
his bow was grandly ceremonious, his smile was 
courteous and his manner bland. 

"Charmed to find you know the merit of 
punctuality," said he. "To the untravelled 
English, six means seven, or even later. You 
may serve dinner, Robins. Strange weather we 
are having," continued he, turning to me ; 
" cold, raw, and uncongenial." 

We talked " barometer" till, the door opening, 
the maitre d'hotel announced, " His excellency 
is served ;" a rather unpolite mode, I thought, 
of ignoring his company, and which was even 
more strongly impressed by the fact that he 
walked in first, leaving me to follow. 

At the table a third " cover" was just being 
speedily removed as we entered, a fact that 
smote at my heart like a blow. The dinner 
began, and went on with little said; a faint 
question from the minister as to what the dish 
contained and a whispered reply constituted 
most of the talk, and an occasional cold recom- 
mendation to me to try this or that entree. It 
was admirable in all its details, the cookery 
exquisite, the wines delicious, but there was an 
oppression in the solemnity of it all that made 
me sigh repeatedly. Had the butler been serving 
a high mass his motions at the sideboard could 
scarcely have been more reverential. 

"If you don't object to the open air, we'll 
take our coffee on the terrace," said his excel- 
lency ; and we soon found ourselves on a most 
charming elevation, surrounded on three sides 
with orange-trees, the fourth opening a magni- 
ficent view over a fine landscape with the Taunus 
mountains in the distance. 

" I can offer you at least a good cigar," said 
the minister, as he selected with great care two 
from the number on a silver plateau before him. 
" These, I think, you will find recommendable ; 
they are grown for myself at Cuba, and pre- 
pared after a receipt only known to one family." 

In all this there was a dignified civility, not 
at all like the impertinent freedom of his manner 
in the morning. He never, besides, addressed 
me as Mr. Paynter ; in fact, he did not advert 
to a name at all, not giving me the slightest 
pretext for that reprisal I had come so charged 
with ; and as to opening the campaign myself, I'd 
as soon have commenced acquaintance with a 
tiger by a pull at his tail. We were now alone ; 
the servants had retired, and there we sat, 

Char!,-, Dirk.,,. ] 


[October Z7, ! 

silently smoking our cigars in apparent ease, 
but, one of us at least, in a frame of mind the 
very opposite to tranquillity. What a rush and 
conflict of thought was in my head ! Why had 
not she dined with us ? Was her position such 
as that the presence of a stranger became an 
embarrassment P Good Heaven ! was I to sup- 
pose this, that, and the other? What was 
there in this man that so imposed on me that 
when I wanted to speak I only could sigh, and 
that I felt his presence like some overpowering 
spell? It was that calm, self-contained, quiet 
manner cold rather than austere, courteous 
without cordiality that chilled me to the very 
marrow of my bones. Lecture him on the 
private moralities of his life ! ask him to render 
me an account of his actions ! address him as 

" With such tobacco as that, one can drink 
Bordeaux," said he. " Help yourself." 

And I did help myself freely, repeatedly. I 
drank for courage, as a man might drink from 
thirst or fever, or for strength in a moment of 
fainting debility. The wine was exquisite, and 
my heart beat more forcibly, and I felt it. 

I cannot follow very connectedly the course of 
events ; I neither know how the conversation 
glided into politics, nor what 1 said on that 
subject. As to the steps by which I succeeded 
iu obtaining his excellency's confidence, I know 
as little as a man does of the precise moment in 
which lie is wet through in a Scotch mist. I 
have a dim memory of talking in a very dicta- 
torial voice, and continually referring to my 
"entrance into public life," with reference to 
what Peel " said," and what the Duke " told 

" What's the use of writing home ?" said his 
excellency, in a desponding voice. " For the last 
five years I have called attention to what is 
going on here : nobody minds, nobody heeds it. 
Open any blue-book you like, and will you find 
one solitary despatch from Hesse-Kalbbraten- 
stadt ?" 

" I cannot call one to mind." 

" Of course you can't. Would you believe it, 
when the Zennger party went out, and the 
Schlaffdorfers came in, I was rebuked actually 
rebuked for sending off a special messenger 
with the news? And then came out a despatch in 
cipher, which being interpreted contained this 
stupid doggrcl : 

Strange that such difference should be 
'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. 

I ask, sir, is it thus the affairs of a great 
country can be carried on? The efforts of 
Russia here are incessant: a certain person- 
ageI will mention no names loves caviar, 
he likes it fresh, there is a special estafctte es- 
tablished to bring it ! I learned, by the most in- 
sidious researches, his fondness for English 
cheese ; I lost no time in putting the fact before 
the cabinet I represented, that while timid 
men looked tremblingly towards France, the 
thoughtful politician saw the peril of Hesse- 
Kalbbrateustadt. I urged them to lose no time : 

' The grand-duchess has immense influence 
countermine her,' said I, ' countermine her with 
a Stilton;' and, would you believe it, sir, they 
have not so much as sent out u Cheddcr ! What 
will the people of England say one of these days 
when they learn, as learn they shall, that at this 
mission here I am alone that I have neither se- 
cretary nor attache", paid or unpaid that since 
the Crimean war the whole weigjit of the legation 
has been thrown upon me nor is this all, but that 
a systematic course of treachery I can't call it 
lies has been adopted to entrap me, if such 
were possible? My despatches are unreplied 
to, my questions all unanswered. I stand here 
with the peace of Europe in my hands, and 
none to counsel nor advise me. What will you 
say, sir, to the very last despatch I have re- 
ceived from Downing-street ? It runs thus : 

" ' I am instructed by his lordship to inform 
you that he views with indifference your state- 
ment of the internal condition of the grand- 
duchy, but is much struck by your charge for 

" ' I have, sir, &c.' 

" This is no longer to be endured. A public 
servant who has filled some of the most respon- 
sible of official stations I was eleven years at 
Tragotfr, in the Argentine Republic ; I was a 
charge at Oohululoo for eight months the only 
European who ever survived an autumn there ; 
they then sent me special to Cabanhos to nego- 
tiate the Salt-sprat treaty ; after that " 

Here my senses grew muddy : the grey dim 
light, the soft influences of a good dinner and a 
sufficiency of wine, the drowsy tenor of the mi- 
nister's voice, all conspired, and I slept as 
soundly as if in my bed. My next conscious 
moment was as his excellency moved his chair 
back, and said, 

" I think a cup of tea would be pleasant ; let 
us come into the drawing-room." 



TO-DAY you who are, let us suppose, a pro- 
vincial, and I, your London cicerone will re- 
visit some of the places which we passed yester- 
day,* and inspect such houses as may be unoc- 
cupied. The street by Oldbourne is perhaps the 
most healthy and pleasant, being situated on an 
eminence overlooking the gardens of Ely House 
and the fields of Iseldune. As we walk thither 
we may put you in possession of such informa- 
tion as may be needful for your guidance before 
making an agreement with the landlord of the 
house you may intend to rent. 

By a recent civic ordinance, tenants at will, 
whose rent is under forty shillings yearly, must 
give their landlords a quarter's notice to deter- 

' See number 76, page 608. At page 609, line 32, 
there is an error, which we take this opportunity of 
correcting. Instead of " 136( , some eighteen rears," 
the | a -sage should have stood, " 1377, some few 
weeks before the close of the reign of Edward the 

[October 27, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

mine the tenancy. If the rent be above that 
sum, half a year's notice is required : neglect of 
this provision burden? you with the payment of 
rent for the additional quarter or half-year, 
unless you can obtain a tenant in your stead. 
The same notice is exacted from your landlord 
if he desires to oust you from possession, but, 
should lie sell the house, the buyer may eject 
you at pleasure, unless you have a special agree- 
ment to the contrary. 

Oldboume-street, to which we are approach- 
ing, is in the ward of Farringdone, which is so 
extended by the number of houses built without 
the walls that there is an intention shortly to 
petition parliament to divide it into two wards 
one within and one without. The houses to 
which we most commend you are newly built, a 
little higher up the lull than Thavie's Inn. This 
first one may be had at a rent of eighty shillings 
yearly. It is substantially erected, aiid finished 
with much care. The party-walls and chimneys, 
in conformity with the Assize of which we told 
you, are of freestone, brought, as it seems, from 
Maidenstone in Kent : they are sixteen feet 
high and three feet thick. The paint on the ash- 
laring is gaudy in your eyes, no doubt, but 
is commonly employed with us, whose atmo- 
sphere being freer from smoke and many other 
vapours, agrees with bright colours better than 
yours. The mortar is of lime mixed with sand 
or broken tiles. The framework built upon the 
walls, and the gables, both front and back, are 
of wood, whitewashed with plaster of Paris. The 
roof is tiled and pitched high, so that rain may 
readily fall into the gutters at the side. The 
windows in houses of this description are not 
always glazed as here ; but, of late, glass has 
been largely imported from Flanders, Normandy, 
and Lorraine, and the glaziers now constitute a 
mystery, or distinct trade. 

If you happen to be acquainted with the 
principles of architectural construction, you will 
conclude, from the external appearance of the 
house, what is the fact, that the chief mechanical 
powers in use amongst you as the crane and 
lewis, for example are familiar to us. The 
numerous improvements made in the science 
of building are almost confined to the elabo- 
ration of machinery for obtaining increased 

Let us now enter the house and see the plan 
of it. We first come to the vestibule leading 
to the hall, or sitting apartment. The latter, you 
may see from, the single chimney, is one room, 
although divided into two by a wooden parti- 
tion. Both are of good size, as houses run with 
us, though eight feet in height may be thought 
low. The floors are well planked, and, as 
well as the wainscoting, are ot Norway fir. In 
houses of a better class than this, designs of 
figures or flowers are generally painted on the 
wainscoting. If you object to the aspect of 
these whitewashed walls, you ca.\ easily drape 
them with hangings, as we commonly do. Tliat 
floriated ironwork on the lock of the door is of 
excellent workmanship. We obtain most o.f our 
iron from Spain, though there are extensive 

bloomeries in the Forest of Dean, and at Fur- 
ness in Lancashire. These aumbries, or, as you. 
would call them, cupboards, are formed by 
means of arches in the wall, which, in accord- 
ance with the Assize, do not exceed a foot in 

On the right of the vestibule we come to the 
kitchen, which doubtless strikes you as strangely 
and inconveniently constructed. In houses of 
this description, and, indeed, in many of the 
better sort, it is usual to leave the kitchen un- 
covered, so that the smoke from the grate in the 
centre and the vapours of cooking may have free 
exit. This, of course, is objectionable in rainy 
weather, and we are beginning to use roofs and 
chimneys, the expense of constructing which 
hinders their general adoption. The floor here 
being unplanked, the refuse is carried off by this 
gutter into a sink outside. The buttery (the 
larder of your country) is on the other side of 
the vestibule. The entrance to the cellars is 
by the steps outside, in the curtilage or court- 

Let us now ascend by this internal staircase to 
the solar or upper chamber. In older houses 
than this you will often find the staircase ex- 
ternal. The solar, like the hall, is one room di- 
vided by wooden partitions. The compartment 
that contains the chimney you will of course 
make your own chamber. The other rooms, with 
central hearths and louvers above, are not so 
pleasant. The windows here, you see, are not 
glazed, but protected by wooden shutters, and 
lattices filled in with canvas. It is not unfre- 
quent to glaze the upper lights, and keep the 
wooden shutters for the lower. At the back we 
look out on the curtilage and garden sloping 
down to the houses on the Fleet banks. There 
is a well in the former, together with a sink for 
refuse water, faced with stone. Our drainage 
in London, by the way, though far behind yours, 
is not ill managed. Besides private sinks, there 
is a common drain in the great streets communi- 
cating with the houses. The Thames is happily 
little polluted by the discharge of sewage, much 
of which falls into the town ditch. There are 
strict and continual regulations issued to keep 
the highways clear from rubbish, and officers are 
appointed by each ward to see that these ordi- 
nances are put in force. There are also rakyers, 
as we have said, whose duty it is to remove 
the garbage to places made to receive it. These 
places are periodically cleansed, the contents 
being carried away in carts provided by the 

You will be glad to know what precautions 
we take against peril from fire, and the attacks 
of enemies. Certain provisions against the 
former are exacted from all builders of houses 
in the City such as the construction of stone 
chimneys, and the prohibition of thatched roofs, 
and ovens placed near timber structures. It is 
further demanded of all the holders of large 
houses that they keep a ladder or two for the 
icscue of their neighbours, and in summer a 
largo water-vessel always full. Each ward 
is bound to keep ready for use an iron crook, 


[October 17, !;.) 55 

two chains, and two cords, with which to de- 
mdish burning houses; while the bedel of the 
ward furnished with a horn to rouse the 

Against foes from within and without we 
have an organised system of protection, not 
wholly contemptible, though in no way compar- 
able to yours. The curfew bell ordained by 
the Conqueror to be rung nightly at eight 
o'clock, still duly sounds from the City 
churches; alter which hour no person with 
amis or without a light ought to be found 
abroad. A regular watch is kept in each ward 
by the alderman and certain members of the 
wardmote on horseback. To prevent thieves 
escaping pursuit, bars and chains arc placed 
across the streets, especially those leading to 
the river. The gates, as we told you yesterday, 
have their daily and nightly guard. On certain 
festivals in the summer there are goodly mus- 
ters of the City watch, who, arrayed in bright 
armour, and carrying lighted cressets, march 
through the chief streets; their fellow-citizens, 
to do them honour, garnishing the houses with 
oil-lamps hung round with green boughs and 
flowers, the evening concluding with oonfires 
and open-air banquets, where all passers-by are 
invited to make merry. 

As the house pleases you, we need not seek 
further. Your outlay in the matter of furniture 
need not be large, as our modes of life are 
simple. We have no " marts" as you have, but 
you must employ a carpenter to make each 
article as you want it. for the hall you will 
require a table, either dormant (that is, fixed) 
or on trestles. By the hearth you may have 
two or three fixed chairs, and a few benches 
ad stools. Carpets are not in use, save at 
court and in great houses, but we strew the 
floors with dry rushes in summer, and green 
fodder in winter, for covering the benches, 
you may hare osier mats or cushions. For the 
solar you will require some tester-beds, each 
consisting of a bench to support the mattress, 
and a canopy over the head. Mattresses you 
can procure of rich stuff, and elaborately quilted, 
it' you will. Pillows, bolsters, chalouns (as we 
call the blankets made at Chalons in France), 
linen sheets, and counterpanes, can be had of 
equal costliness, or of more moderate quality 
and price. Two or three chests for clothes, 
some ewers and basins of earthenware, a 
few towels, combs, and mirrors of polished 
steel, will complete the furniture of the bed- 

For the table you require some wooden 
trenchers, and plates, and bowls, either of wood 
or earthenware. The latter from its costliness, 
is not much used. The wealthy dine off silver, 
gilt, and enamelled dishes. Goblets can be ob- 
tained of various kinds, from gold, silver, crystal, 
glass, alabaster, agate, or cocoa-nut, down to 
pewter and wood. None are better than those 
which we call mazers, made out of the nuuere 
or walnut-tree. A large wooden salt-cellar is 
requisite for the centre of the table. Spoons 
are commonly made of silver for persons of the 

middle class. Forks are in less frequent use, 
but can be purchased. It is usual to send the 
meat to table on a spit of silver, which is handed 
round to the guests, each man cutting off with 
his knife as much as he requires. As the 
fingers become soiled by this fashion of e, 
we commonly have a lavatory in the liall. 
Knives may be purchased with silver, enamelled, 
or agate handles, and are generally carried about 
the person in plain or ornamented sheaths. 
Tablecloths and napkins you can procure of 
various qualities. 

For the kitchen, all the requisite utensils, as 
caldrons, dishes, pots, pails, spits, and trivets, 
you may buy on Cornehill. Candlesticks are com- 
monly made of iron. You will find the wax 
candles imported from Paris, called perchcrs, 
the best for your own use, tallow being good 
enough for household purposes. Soap is much 
imported from Spain, but some very good 
of a grey colour is made at Bristol. For fuel, 
there arc various sorts in use ; consisting of 
cither charcoal, seacoal, fagots, brushwood, or 

As to the garden, which you should stock 
with the ordinary fruit-trees and vegetables, 
you will find the soil favourable, though some- 
what moist hereabouts from the multitude of 
springs. Your neighbour, the Earl of Lincoln, 
manages to derive a considerable income from 
the sale of his fruits. Apples of the costard 
and pearmain species are common with us. Of 
pears we have several kinds the Kaylewell 
(wliich you call Caillou), a stewing pear, tk^ 
Kewl (or St. Regie), and the Pesse Pucelle, 
being the best. If you visit Bedfordshire, be 
sure to obtain a graft from the Cistercian 
monks of Warden, who have a famous baking 
pear, called after them. To pears you may add 
cherries, peaches, plums, coynea (quinces in 
your tongue), medlars, and mulberries. Goose- 
berries, strawberries, and raspberries we have 
in a wild state, but do not often cultivate. 
Chesnuts and walnuts are not unfrequently 
grown. Vines demand such a large space and 
careful culture that they would be unfit for this 
piece of ground. In some districts, as at 
leynham and Northflete, in Kent, manors of 
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and at Ledbury 
under Malveru, a manor of the Bishop of He- 
reford, they attain great richness and value. 
Of flowers, you should plant roses, lilies, violets, 
sunflowers, gillyflowers, or clove pinks, poppies, 
and pervinkes (your periwinkles V and enclose 
them, as our wont is, in a wattled fence. Of 
vegetables, we have cabbages, peas, beans, ra- 
diskes, onions, garlic, leeks, sorrel, beet, let- 
tuce, parsley, rape (a species of what you call 
turnip), rocket, mustard, and cress. Of herbs, 
sage, mint, fennel, hyssop, and rue are grown. 
If you will, you may set up a beehive, the 
honey whcrtl'rom is certain of a purchaser 
MBOBg the brewers, who use it for their ale. 
Were you not a heretic, we should advise you 
to dig and stock a vivary with fish, which, by 
reason of our many Church fasts, we cat more 
commonly than flesh. 

56 [October 27, 1SCO.] 


[Conducted by 

You will be glad of a little information 
touching the customs of trade amongst us, and 
the best shops and markets at which to pur- 
chase. Our ordinary shops, as you may see, are 
open chambers on the ground floor. Beneath 
them are in some cases sheds for warehouses ; 
but to your repositories of stock answer our 
shealds (or sheds) attached to the hythes, or 
landing-places. There certain public officers, 
called scavagers, are in attendance, who take 
customs for the stowage of goods in these 
receptacles. Besides their shops our tradesmen 
have stalls, which in assigned places they are 
allowed to keep stationary. Elsewhere they 
stand, as you saw yesterday, in the road. 
Trades being generally handed down from father 
to son, or restricted to a guild, it is usual for 
all men of the same calling to inhabit a separate 
district. To remedy the evil effects of the mo- 
nopoly that would ensue from the restriction of 
trades, the authorities are wont from time to 
time to publish an assize, or fixed scale of 
charges, which no trader may exceed. This 
rule applies to handicraftsmen as well as to 
dealers. No doubt a certain degree of injustice 
is thereby occasioned, but assuredly less than 
would fall upon the poorer public if the guilds 
were under no control. Before you blame 
our system you must be reminded that in 
your country a similar restraint is placed upon 
the extortion of the drivers of public convey- 

The civic officers exercise the strictest con- 
trol over the quality of food and liquors, and the 
weights and measures whereby they are sold. It 
is the duty of the alderman of each ward to in- 
spect the latter periodically, and certify to their 
accuracy by affixing his seal. No private and 
unsealed vessels, such as the common drinking 
cups of the taverns, called hanaps and cruskyns, 
or cruses, are allowed to be used as measures. 
Wine cannot be sold until scrutinised and gauged. 
The bakers have their ovens regularly inspected, 
and the bread compared with the assessed stan- 
dard. If any one is detected giving false weight 
he is pilloried in Chepe for the offence. After 
two convictions, his oven is pulled down, and he 
is expelled from the trade. The pillory is the 
ordinary punishment for selling unsound, imper- 
fect, and counterfeit goods of any description, 
the articles themselves being not only forfeited, 
but burnt. 

There is but one more custom of our trade 
which it is requisite that you should know, 
and that is the franchise of purveyance enjoyed 
by the king and certain privileged bodies and 
individuals. To form an adequate conception 
of it, you must call to mind the condition of 
some of your own seaport towns, where, to the 
prejudice of the residents, the first supply of 
fish is daily bought up by the metropolitan 
traders. Here the metropolis and the whole 
country are in a similar position, with the ad- 
ditional disadvantage of the hardship being 
legalised. It is usual for the servants of the 
king, and certain spiritual and temporal lords, to 
attend the markets between midnight and the 

hour of prime (the Church service at six A.M.), 
and choose the best articles for the use of their 
masters. Public trading is only legal after this 
period. Of late years, through the manly oppo- 
sition of the Commons, this drawback to our 
commercial prosperity has been mitigated to 
some extent, and its limits are always guarded 
with the utmost jealousy. 

Of edibles let us begin with bread. There 
are several sorts in regular consumption. The 
best white bread we call " demeine," or lord's 
quality. The next sort is "wastel," that is, 
cake or biscuit bread, which, though good, is half 
the price of demeine. A third kind is called 
French ; a fourth " puff," from its lightness ; 
and a fifth "tourte," or "bis," that is, brown 
bread. The leaven employed is also of different 
qualities. The loaves, which are circular in 
shape, are always stamped with the baker's 
private seal a counterpart of which is kept by 
the alderman of the ward, who makes a periou- 
ical tour of inspection. Mixed flour is often 
used in the country especially a combination of 
wheat and rye, which we call "mystelon," or 
" monk-corn," from its being a favourite food 
in the monasteries. It is the same as the maslin 
of your country. To prevent fraud, this, and 
every other commixture of flour, is forbidden 
in London. For a similar reason, the bakers 
of tourte bread, which is made of unbolted 
flour, are prohibited from making any other sort, 
and a converse restriction extends to the bakers 
of white bread. The places for the sale of 
loaves are public, and it is illegal to purchase at 
the baker's oven. Corncmll and Chepe are the 
largest markets. Private families, however, 
usually buy of the regratresses, women who 
regrate, or retail bread from the bakers, and de- 
liver it at the doors of their customers. The 
profit of these hucksters is limited to the thir- 
teenth batch, which they receive over and 
above each dozen. You, too, are familiar with 
the term " baker's dozen." The bread most 
in demand with us is not made in the City, 
but at Stratford, and Bremble in Essex, and St. 
Alban's in Hertfordshire, whence it is brought 
up in carts every morning. The reason of its 
popularity is its cheapness two ounces over 
London weight being gained in every penny- 

Should you have occasion to buy corn, you 
will find the regular markets at Billingsgate, 
Queenhythe, Graschirche, and the Friars Mi- 
nors' pavement at Newgate. To prevent any 
chance of the collision of eager competitors, 
certain places are assigned to farmers from 
the eastern, and those from the western 
counties ; and to prevent fraud, restrictions of 
time and place are put upon regraters. There 
are millers in the City, should you require their 
services. The few sokes still remaining confer 
upon the owners a right of multure ; that is, the 
exclusive privilege of grinding the corn of their 

We Londoners eat less flesh than fish, and 
pork more than other kinds of meat, but you 
will find ample means of gratilying your own 



[October 97, 1800.) 57 

taste in this respect. West Smithfield is our 
largest cattle market, but for meat you must 
go to St. Nicholas flesh-shambles bv Newgate, 
or to the Stokkes market near the Poultry. 
Beef, mutton, veal, pork, and venisou, may there 
be had. If you are a sportsman at home, you 
will be horrified to hear that we eat the latter 
as often salted as fresh, and pay so little regard 
toseason as to kill all the year round, save only in 
the fence-month, or fawning-time, which lasts 
from fifteen days before to fifteen days after Mid- 

Of poultry and game you will find in our 
markets nearly all the kinds prized in your 
country turkeys being the chief exception. 
"VVe eat also several kinds that you either have 
not, or do not value such as peacocks, esteemed 
with us a royal delicacy, swans, cranes, herons, 
curlews, bitterns, thrushes, and finches. So 
with fish. We think delicious several species 
which you despise such as whale, sturgeon, 
porpoise, grampus, sea-calf, sea-wolf (or dog- 
fish as you call it), and conger while we care 
very little for your favourite lobsters, crabs, and 
shrimps. The chief landing-places for fish are 
Queenhythe and Billingsgate, and its regular 
markets the Stokkes, Old and New Fish Streets. 
From Prussia we import stock-fish, the sale of 
which is a special trade. Scotland sends us 
salmon and cured cod. There are several regu- 
lations of the fish trade, with which it would be 
very tedious to acquaint you. One of them only 
may be mentioned, as being for the benefit of 
the poor ; prohibiting whelks, mussels, and such 
common fish from being regrated, so that 
the price may not be heightened by a double 

Of minor articles of food you can obtain all 
you want at the various markets. Butter we 
hold in slight esteem. It is more thin and 
watery than that which is made in your country, 
so much so that we sell it by liquid measure. 
Cheese is made in the country, but also largely 
imported by the French and Hanse merchants. 
That of Brie is as great a favourite with us as 
with you. The French merchants of Amiens, 
Corby, and Nesle, also bring us onions and 
garlic. You can obtain here most of the com- 
mon groceries and spices to which you are ac- 
customed : sugar (which we import from Alex- 
andria and Sicily), pepper, ginger, canuel (your 
cinnamon), caraway, liquorice, mastic, cubebs, 
cardamnms, anise, rice, cloves, mace, muscads 
(as we call your nutmegs), and olive oil. Salt we 
obtain from the Cinque Ports chiefly. Besides 
native fruits, you may purchase the following 
imports : figs, almonds, dates, raisins, currants, 
prunes, damascenes (damsons in your tongue), 
and occasionally oranges, and pomegranates. 

Wine is the ordinary drink of the middle 
classes with us, and is imported in large quanti- 
ties from France, Spain, Italy, and Greece. 
The sale of sweet wine is a special trade, and 
there are only three taverns in the City where it 
is allowed to be sold. Of this sort, Malvesie, a 
Greek wine (your Malmsey), and Claire, a 
French wiiie boiled and sweetened, are chiefly 

in demand. Of wines without sweetness, the 
white wine of Gascony, the red of Bordeaux, 
Lcpe (made in the neighbourhood of Cadiz), 
and Rhenish, are much drunk. You will recog- 
nise the ordinary wine tavern by a pole which 
projects from the gable, and has a bush or 
bunch of leaves at its extremity. Ale is sold at 
separate taverns. It is made from either 
barley, wheat, or oats. Though a favourite be- 
verage with us, it may not be to your taste, on 
account of its sweetness and heat. Instead of 
hops our brewers mingle honey, pepper, and 
spices with the malt liquor. As, uniike you, we 
prefer new ale to old, it is usual for the cus- 
tomer to send his vessel to the brewery at night 
and call for it in the morning, that the ale may 
have time to work. Cider is made from pear- 
main apples, in Yorkshire, Norfolk, and other 
counties; mead is a common drink in the 
Welsh marches ; but neither is much known in 

We must add a few general words respecting 
the coinage current amongst us, and the average 
prices at which the commodities we have men- 
tioned are sold. In theory, our monetary system 
is the same as your own, the pound being divided 
into twenty shilling parts, of twelve penny- 
weights each. In practice, we differ widely, as 
our money is thrice as heavy as yours ; we have 
no coins answering to your pound and shilling, 
and no copper coinage at all. With us, the 
pound is of twelve ounces of silver, and equal to 
three pounds of your money. We reckou not 
only by pounds, shillings, and pence, but by the 
mark. No such coin is now in circulation, but 
its representative value is thirteen shillings and 
fourpence, or two pounds of your money. Our 
highest gold coin is the half-mark or noble. 
There are also half and quarter nobles of gold. 
Besides these, we have the gold florin, so called 
from its Florentine coiners, worth about six 
shillings (between eighteen and nineteen shil- 
lings of your money); the half and the quarter 
florin. These pieces, not being thought con- 
venient, are being withdrawn from circulation. 
The Royal Mint, in the Tower, has also issued 
of late years a large silver piece, called, from its 
size, a groat (gros), and legally worth fourpence ; 
but not being equal in weight to four pennies ster- 
ling, the price of commodities sold by it has been 
generally raised. The word sterling we derive 
irom the Easterlings, or East German traders, 
whose money has always been noted for its 
special fineness. The silver penny is now about 
eighteen grains in weight. We have also the 
halfpenny, and quarter, or farthing. Pieces to 
that value are now generally coined, but the 
broken halves and quarters of pennies were not 
long since in common use. Certain foreign 
coins still circulate amongst us. The bezant of 
Constantinople is no longer to be found, but the 
French florin of three shillings and fourpence, 
the crown of six shillings and eightpeiice, which, 
from the shield on its face, is called a " schelde," 
and the piece of five shillings, termed, from the 
Agnus Dei upon it, a " mouton," are legally 
current. The Genoese coius known as Jane, or 

58 [October27, 1SCO.] 


[Conducted by 

Galley halfpence, and the money of the Counts 
of Luxembourg, which we call Lussheburgs, are 
not held to belong to our currency. The utter- 
ance of several spurious coins, as crocards, pol- 
lards, rosaries, staldings, cocodones, eagles, 
leonines, mitres, steepings, and black mail, is 
prohibited by express statutes. 

The values of ordinary articles of commerce 
vary greatly within short periods of time, and 
you must be guided by the Assize generally an 
equitable estimate which is periodically pub- 
lished for every trade. You will find, as a rule, 
that owing to the difference between our coun- 
try and yours with respect to the importation 
of bullion, and the supply of commodities, the 
command over the latter represented by our 
money is fifteen, if not twenty, times as great 
as that which you can obtain. Wheat fluctuates 
extremely in price, a few years ago having 
reached twenty shillings per quarter (of eight 
bushels) ; whereas now it is cheap, and will not 
fetch more than four or five shillings per quarter 
in the country, and five or six shillings in 
London. Its average price is held to be six 
shillings and eightpence per quarter. Bread, at 
the present price of wheat, is sold at the rate of 
a halfpenny for a two-pound loaf. A fat ox may 
fetch from twelve to sixteen shillings a fat 
sheep about eighteenpence a hen twopence 
eggs a penny a score. Fish is sold in various 
ways, according to its kind. If in large quan- 
tities, it may be bought by the basket, each to 
contain as much as a bushel of oats. Nothing 
varies more in price, as every one knows. 
Salmon, from Christmas to Easter, costs half as 
much again as after Easter. Mackerel doubles 
its price in Lent, when it is much eaten. Oysters 
are sold by the gallon, twopence being a fail- 
price ; eels by the strike of twenty -five, at the 
same cost ; pickled herrings by the score, for one 

Spices and groceries we, like you, sell by the 
pound. Sugar may cost from a sliilling to two 
shillings per pound, rice three halfpence to two- 
pence, almonds twopence halfpenny to three- 
pence halfpenny, pepper eightpence to a shilling. 
Cloves and saffron, though much used for 
flavouring wine and meats, are high-priced, cost- 
ing sometimes as much as ten shillings a pound. 
Apples sell at a shilling a hundred ; pears, ac- 
cording to the sort, from threepence to three 
shillings a hundred ; coyncs (quinces), fourpence 
a hundred. 

The average price of Malvcsie wine is about 
sixtecnpence per gallon (of four quarts) ; of 
Rhenish, eightpence. The sextary, by which 
wine is also sold, contains four gallons. The 
pottle, which is a common measure, holds two 
quarts. Ale is generally assessed at a penny 
to three halfpence per gallon for the best, and 
at three farthings to a penny for the second 
quality. The fluctuations of the Assize, as re- 
spects all these articles, arc of course owing to 
a variety of causes, of which war and weather 
are the most influential. To fully understand 
their operation, you must know the condition of 
our agriculture and the extent of our commerce. 

For the present you have probably had as much 
information as you will be able to digest at one 


I SHOULD say whatever significance lies be- 
low the fact that an Eternal city must be the 
very happy hunting-grounds of the guild of bill- 
stickers. They arc the free lances of their pro- 
fession. No scowling "Post no bills" or " Defense 
d'affieher" warns them off jealously kept premises; 
no niggard proprietor shall extend the provisions 
of the game laws to his tenements and heredita- 
ments, and strictly " preserve" a tempting bit 
of wall or virgin corner. They roam hither and 
thither wheresoever they list, and coming to a 
likely angle (they have a nice eye, and a taste 
almost artistic in these matters) or a piece of 
unsullied brickwork enjoying a suitable pub- 
licity, the artist of the beautiful sets up his 
scaling ladder, and spreading his adhesive mix- 
ture, affixes his little proclamations deftly. I 
am sorry to see that he affects no distinction 
between premises sacred and profane, decorating 
the walls alike of church and palace with the 
strictest impartiality. With a little attention 
to the choice of subject, there might be a cer- 
tain discrimination in the distribution of the 
notices, for it docs not harmonise with the fit- 
ness of things that lost dogs should be pro- 
claimed from beside the church door, though 
it may be whispered that invitations for lost 
sheep to return might suit such a situation with 
more appropriateness. It must be said, how- 
ever, that they are shut out from the usufruct 
of scaffoldings, hoardings, and such enclosures, 
and are thus thrown back upon more solid sur- 
faces ; but it must be said also, that this is to 
be placed to the account of the well-known im- 
pediment which once interfered with the dis- 
charge of a certain famous salute. Hoarding 
at least not of this harmless timber nature is 
unfamiliar to Roman street economy. 

However this may be, the labours of these 
gentlemen seem to be altogether absorbed in 
the promulgation of controversial matter. There 
seems, at this crisis, to have fallen a perfect 
shower of pamphlet hail ; dead walls are gal- 
vanised into a certain liveliness and theological 
briskness. I come to-day by this palace corner 
and find it overlaid with a myriad of these pro- 
clamations, all glistening in their new print and 
shining paste. Stolid i'aces collect and read, 
and a black-robed priest with a hat broad and 
flat as an Indian bowl, leans on his ancient 
green umbrella, and reads thoughtfully. I see 
one take out his book and pencil and make a 
note of the price and address, then go his way 
briskly. There is surely a " mort" of titles to 
pick from, and the most fastidious tasto can 
satisfy itself. There is "II Papa," "II R& e 
1'ltali'a," besides which shines out in broad black 
letters " II sovranta temporale del Papa." Not 
far off is "Lo spirituale e il temporale nella 
Chiese," and a little to the right, iu suggestive 
proximity, is "La Francia, 1'Impero, et il 

Charln Dlokent.] 


0cto'j7, IMftJ 59 

!o." Vast and comprehensive subjects 
which would seem to exhaust these uice ques- 
tions, and each offered at the humble figure of 
twopence-hid fpeiiny ! I come next day by this 
familiar corner, uud lind that the wall is still 

, [jut the papers arc gone ; at least they are 
hidden away uudrr a fresh company of clean 
glistening sheets, displaying an entirely novel 
and appetising (for such as love the all 

. Now I read it " II Congresso c il 1 
(this poor name is sadly buffeted in the dust of 
the conflict), and M. Villemain's brochure done 
out of his heavy French into heavier Italian. 
A distinguished nobleman belonging to our 
country, I BOO, has been glorified by a similar 
compliment: and "Debate in the English 
Parliament da Milor Noruianby," swells the 
crowded ruck of these lighter squibs. As each 
day succeeds, so does a fresh shower come 
fluttering down from the clouds ; and as each 
day closes, so is it absorbed into that waste- 
paper limbo reserved for pamphlets, and news- 
papers, and playbills. Doctors of law, canons, 
law; crs, prelates, all descend into the arena and 
iirniie. their little squibs. Populus rushes and 
buys with avidity, and has the whole niceties 
of that intricate question expounded for the small 
charge of five halfpennies. 

\Vaiulerii -g up and down through these Roman 
thoroughfares, m which there is inexhaustible 
entertainment, I hail a decently stocked shop 
with a certain thankfulness. It is a species of 
spring in the desert, even though it be but 
a poor tenth-class article, stuck with iu- 
diffcreut little table ornaments of the Palais 
Royal make, only sadly dimmed and of the pat- 
tern the season before last. In such a miscellany 
there are not many things likely to make you 
start, yet when I see three little yellow busts in 
a line looking at me steadfastly from the window 
of one emporium, I do own to such an emotion. 
There is nothing in the fact of three yellow 
busts in a line looking out of a window, but 
when the centre one proves to be an exact por- 
trait of his Holiness Pius the Ninth, and the 
one on the right his excommunicated Majesty 
Victor Emmanuel, and the one on the left the 
eldest but sadly uudutiful sou of the Church, 
Napoleon the Third, the combination becomes 
suggestive and most significant. I pass and 
rqiass the same establishment pretty often, aud 
always find the Holy Father supported by this 
Royal Peachum and Lockit. I wonder is this 
exposition a mere stupidity on the part of the 
innocent proprietor, or a bit of sly satire fitted 
to the erisis '? More surprising still, where are 
the Argus-eyed ? where Manteucci, chief of the 
thief-takers, to forbid this unlawful collocation ? 
It was thought that when the late Signor 
Lablache passed away, Doctor Dulcamara, with 

iixirs, nostrums, and carriage, retired from 
business. I am very glad to see that this is not 
the case. For, coming round by that space in 
front of the Paiuheou, whose dark pillars look 
&3 though they had been smoked black by lire, 
I come upon Doctor Dulcamara, aloft upon his 
quaint machine, halt' carriage, half caravan, aud, 

by his lusty voice, full of strength and spirits. 
Neither have the gaping rustics retired from 
business, for here they an; gathered, open- 
mouthed, greedy, stolid, and purchasing briskly. 
The doctor wears his bright charlatan's robes 
of office, and is assisted by a theatrical-looking 
young lady, who vuiy be his daughter, but may 
more reasonably be presumed to be his slave, 
for I should take the doctor to be Eastern in his 
tastes and habits. I draw near, and am de- 
lighted with his harangue. It is irresistible. 
His little bottles go off like wildfire. I draw 
near and hear him say : " Friends ! Signori and 
Signore ! Might 1 not have been rich, powerful, 
flourishing, at this moment, great in the courts 
and in the palaces ? but I scorned them all !" 
(Orator flings back his arm with much heat and 
violence.) "I preferred ay, ten thousand 
times preferred" (orator now crouching low 
like a cat, and running on hurriedly in a low 
guttural aud mysterious tone) "thegratification 
of alleviating the sorrows of my fellow-creatures, 
soothing their woes, bearing health, life, and 
consolation to the sick-b^d of the poor and suf- 
fering ! ; ' (Climax is emphasised by a tremen- 
dous thump on his breast, and a burst of applause 
encourages the production of such noble senti- 
ments. Wiping bis brow, orator proceeds.) 
" Has not" (this is spoken very slowly and im- 
pressively) "uon ha il impero di leFranccsi" 
(pause) " di TUTTI le Fraucesi " (protracted 
pause, while rustic visages lengthen visibly at 
the awfol name), " did he not ofter with Ids ow 
hand colla sua raano" (pause, rustics breath- 
less), " offer to pin on my oton breast le vuig- 
nificcnte decorazione of the Legion of Honour ? 
Did not the Empress of the Kussias of all the 
Russias? did not the Grand Seignior the 

Sultan " (I do not catch the magnificent 

offers made by those august persons.) " Ecco ! 
Behold ! See ! Look on the precious papers !" 
(And he drags from his breast a bundle of greasy 
parchments with seals dangling from them.) 
" Ma non ! Never! never! never!" (This is 
spoken with the vehemence of virtue and self-ab- 
negation. The parchments are flung back con- 
temptuously into an omnibus.) "I have it 
here" (thumping his breast violently) " what 
repays me for all !" And as I walk away, I see 
that the young lady assistant can scarcely meet 
the demand for the efficacious bottles. 

This little alley takes me away from Doctor 
Dulcamara, round by the soot-coloured Pan- 
theon, which some way fits into its place as 
familiarly and as practically as does the Bank of 
England or the General Post Olfice, and leads 
me up to the great hostelry, which is, sub 
tutela under the protection of the Goddess of 
Wisdom, and is christened Minerva. From 
Pantheon to Minerva is not so outrageous a 
leap ; but it is hard to fathom what special 
affinity binds that wise divinity to hotel-keeping. 
Had she, indeed, sprung armed from the stomach, 

not the brain, of Jupiter but it is not so 

written. Unexplained, too, the mysterious law 
thai, seems to draw under its roof, clergymen of 
all climes and countries, but of one dcnoiuina- 

60 [October 27, 1560.] 


[Conducted by 

tion. It overflows with the sacerdotal element, 
and ill case of extremity you would be only 
embarrassed with redundancy of spiritual aid. I 
know also the significance of the two lean sen- 
tries at the gate, who, by their lean faces and 
coarse grey coats, of the prison or workhouse 
colour, hanging on them in bags, and garnished 
with pewter buttons, unconsciously resuscitate 
the lanky soldier who staggered under a famous 
chine of beef at Mr. William Hogarth's Calais 
Gate. The potentate they do honour to, has 
been whispered of for weeks back, and has 
now but newly come. He is at the sign of 
Pallas Athene and her wise bird. Rustics 
stand about and eye the lean sentries curiously. 
Do they remark (as I do, and it is a very 
painful eyesore) that the pewter buttons of 
this left-hand sentry are buttoned all awry ; 
or are they speculating upon this carriage now 
driving up, with the four gentlemen in the 
French hats inside, and whom lean sentries 
(buttoned awry) salute noisily ? Crowd hurries 
up in an instant. He that short dark man 
of the true French colonel stamp, who 
springs out so light, is the general, the fighting 
Algerian and famous Legitimist warrior. He 
sits in his chamber on that first floor, with 
orderlies waiting in the lobby. He has changed 
the face of the hotel sacerdotal. He has made 
the goddess furbish up her old armour. Staff 
officers come and go. Later I see one : tall, 
handsome, of good figure, his military frock 
fitting him without a wrinkle (it was cut out by 
no Roman tailor), mounting his charger in the 
court. He looks an earnest soldier, and has 
seen fighting ; but I am more struck by a 
mournful preoccupied look in his eyes, that 
seems to speak of a sad fixity of purpose. 
I meet him, now descending the stairs with 
a broad despatch in his hand, now clatter- 
ing down some narrow street with a mounted 
dragoon behind him. But the same stern, sad 
fire looks out from his eyes, as he thinks that 
perhaps another orderly, in the shape of Atra 
Cura, is riding unseen beside. When some one 
tells me that this is Colonel Pimodan, chief of 
the staff to General Lamoriciere, it much helps 
me, and the name passes me by lightly ; but now 
the name recurs to me with events of yesterday, 
with a suspicion that some presage or presenti- 
mentwas workingunder those handsome features. 
It seemed an odd conception that fixity of 
head-quarters at an hostelry, and setting up the 
Horse Guards at the sign of the Dragon. But 
they do fierce battle at dinner-time, and are 
terrible customers these gentlemen of the staff. 
I see them at the daily banquet, sitting, many 
together, and victualling on the old anticipating 
system so admirably inculcated by the late 
Major Dalgetty. There is the old French 
officer, whose jaws seem to me to work as by 
some artificial mechanical agency, whose per- 
formance is something fearful to look at, and 
who though he at different occasions has lost 
out of his person various teeth, muscles, ten- 
dons, and important bones still has apparently 
suffered in no respect in the matter of relish 

and appetite. It is a marvel to see that ancient 
officer chopping and munching his food. 

Not many days since, wandering into the 
spacious Piazza of Saint Peter's, I found the 
fruits of this hostelry Horse Guards already in 
full work and vigour. That superb approach 
has become a training-ground, and is dotted 
over with parties of the lank, lean, Calais Gate 
soldiery, at drill. Such poor stuff, such insuffi- 
cient food for powder ! great miscellany of 
the pewter-buttoned and cold workhouse -toned 
grey ! you must first fill in those bags and 
wrinkles with good solid meat, before the Al- 
geriue can make much of you ! They seem to 
me of the same texture and quality as that 
notable leg of mutton which Dr. Johnson once 
partook of, when coaching it up or down for 
Lichfield, and which he vehemently stigmatised 
as " ill kept, ill dressed, ill cooked, and as bad 
as bad could be." The practice was, I suppose, 
no worse and no more awkward than elemental 
drilling all the world over. There were the 
stiff hands galvanised (palms forward) to the 
sides of the human figure; the strained neck, 
and the goggling eyes with the alarming stare. 
They were at their goose-step, poor boys, and 
reflected the gait of that familiar bird very 
faithfully. It is curious, certainly, to see an 
officer playing drill-sergeant, and stepping back- 
wards in front of that doubtful, hesitating line, 
which now reels into a concave arc, now wriggles 
into a perfect snake. Officer may shout hoarsely 
and take measurements with that steel instru- 
ment of his, but I suspect it will be long before 
he shall work up these raw recruits into good 
fighting fabric. If Santo Padre would but come 
to that high window yonder, and look down 
upon these combative children of his ! It 
would not be encouraging. 

Writing in the banqueting-chamber of our 
hostelry, seated on a sort of steep sliding bank 
popularly known as a sofa, I hear the braying 
of military music below in the street, and fly to 
the balcony. I see a whole regiment of blue- 
and-gold men-at-arms defiling under the win- 
dows privates, officers, drummers even all 
faced and smeared plentifully with gold-lace. 
The Palatine Guard, or Loyal Pontifical Vo- 
lunteers, all the tailors, hatters, and other 
artificers, who have embodied themselves into 
this flashy corps. In return for such devo- 
tion, the state must, at its own charges, find 
them the showiest uniform that can be got for 
money. But what rivets my whole attention 
is the mounted officer who rides in front: a 
youth of not more than three or four-and- 
twenty : the most corpulent, plethoric, florid 
youth my eye has ever rested on. They have 
their music, too, which works obstreperously. 
I see that, after office and shop hours, they 
delight in showing themselves and their gaudy 
clothes at public ceremonies, where they are 
treated obsequiously ; and I find the Giornale 
di Roma repeatedly complimenting them on 
their attendance, in some such form as, "We 
observed among the crowd several of the ne\v 
Palatine Guard in full regimentals, who have 

Charlei Dickens.] 



rly seized this opportunity of testifying," 
&c. &c. 

Peace be with these worthy fencibles ! There 
was some such civic guard once seen on duty 
muffled in great-coats, and sheltering themselves 
under umbrellas. A languid Neapolitan, sunning 
himself on the shore of his own bright bay, has 
been heard to excuse himself from fighting, with 
this irresistible argument : " What would you 
have P Life is very sweet we don't want to 
die !" It is not difficult to read in the eyes of 
these creatures, so diligent at their goose-step, 
future decampment into the open country and 
desertion of their general at the first shot. 

As I lounge down the long Corso in the 
cool afternoon, I hear slow steady tramping 
behind, with spur music chinking in proper 
time ; and, looking back, I see a different quality 
of fighting men. A patrol party of pontifical 
men-at-arms coming their rounds, eight or 
ten strong, and two abreast strong orpad- 
chested men, of fine figure and proportions, 
and stepping with a slow, ponderous dignity. 
In dress they are the gendarmes of the stage, 
who arrest llobert Macaire, with the familiar 
white cord epaulettes, and cross-belts, and 
cocked-hats. Walk up the street some hundred 
feet higher, and there meets them another 
party, just- as strong, sauntering by in so- 
lemn dead march. These are ticklish days : a 
spark may at any moment fall upon the repub- 
lican tinder and blow all up. Towards midnight, 
when you have passed the band of youths arm- 
in-arm, fresh from the pit of the Opera, and 
chanting the favourite tenor air in their own 
tenor voices, you hear the measured tread of the 
patrol draw near, and the company of shadowy 
figures, now draped in long pyramidal cloaks that 
sweep the ground, pass by sadly, and are gone 
into the night. Very peaceful are Roman streets 
at such hours. Even the sleeping dogs take 
their rest in prodigious numbers, stretched on 
the open pathway. It is almost comical to 
see the long bodies of these laid out so boldly, 
secure of not being disturbed ; for a gentle tole- 
ration for the four-footed is one of the redeem- 
ing points in the Roman commonwealth. Of a 
Sunday morning I have seen a whole congrega- 
tion stepping aside respectfully into the road 
to avoid inconveniencing a great yellow hound 
snoring in the sun on the pathway. Nothing 
could be more tenderly gracious than the 
manner in which this act of courtesy was 
paid, or more delicious than the conscious se- 
curity with which the drowsy brute held his 
place, blinking luxuriously. 

As I look at Roman Piucher snoozing thus of 
the Sunday morning, he brings to my mind a 
legend a dog legend growiug out of the hu- 
mours of the Roman fair. An Irish friend is 
returning home cheerfully when it is pretty far 
gone in the small hours from that famous ball 
at the Princess Piccinino's, and, meeting on his 
progress, many dogs of various sizes and breeds, 
begins regaling them with bits of biscuit and 
other delicacies. To his surprise, on turning 
round a corner, he finds himself waited on by a 

whole procession a sort of dense company of 
irregular light dogs, the spahis of the tribe. All 
are expectant, and follow his motions wistfully ; 
reckoning on entertainment,. My Irish friend 
bethinks him what to do with this miscellany, and 
suddenly determines to get as much comedy out 
of the situation as possible. He sets off again, 
making for the house of a friend whom he loves 
not too well, and the irregulars, now swelled by 
numerous volunteers, follow closely. Knocking 
loudly, he is presently admitted. " Signor is 
asleep, just come from the ball." " No matter 
business of importance news from England 
go and wake." Porter goes up. Irish friend 
then enters, and flings biscuit up-stairs. Enters 
loudly, and with savage contention, whole troop 
of irregulars, hurrying pell-mell up-stairs. Comic 
friend then shuts the door, and goes his way. 



ALTHOUGH Switzerland is famous, all the 
world over, for its lofty mountains, still, in 
foreign countries, many lads of my age, and in 
my station of life, may not exactly know that 
the Jura is a chain of mountains formed by 
several parallel chains which extend from Basle, 
in Switzerland, quite up to France and a little 
way into it, running in the direction from north- 
east to south-west. The length of the Jura is 
about one hundred and seventy miles, and its 
breadth from thirty-five to forty miles. It con- 
tains a great number of deep valleys, and several 
mountains whose summits are very lofty. 

I mention these dry details at the outset, 
in order that you may better understand what 
happened to me ; for it is, in great measure, the 
difference of the height of the mountains which 
renders them more or less habitable. The 
higher they are, the sharper is the cold there, 
the shorter is the summer, the scantier is the 
vegetation, and the earlier does the snow cover 
it. Some of these mountains are even so lofty 
that the snow on their tops is never entirely 
and completely melted, but remains in patches 
in the hollows. Nevertheless, all the mountains 
of the Jura lose their upper garment of snow 
every year ; some sort of herbage springs on the 
highest summits; at many points they are 
clothed with magnificent woods of beech, oak, 
and especially firs; whilst other parts afford 
excellent pasture-ground, on which very fine 
cattle are reared, and particularly oxen, cows, 
and goats. Notwithstanding which, these beau- 
tiful mountains are scarcely habitable more than 
five months in the year, from May or June until 
the beginning of October. 

As soon as the snows are melted and the sum- 
mits arc clothed again with green, our villages, 
which are all buut in the valleys or on the 
lower slopes, send their herds up the mountain. 
This departure is quite a holiday ; and yet we 
herdsmen have to spend the whole summer away 
from our families, leading a hard-working life 
with many privations. We live almost entirely 

62 [October 27, ISO).] 


[Conducted by 

on a milk-and-cheese diet, which we call by a 
general name, laitage, having often nothing else 
to drink by way of a change but water from the 
spring. We spend our time in grazing our herds 
and in making those large and handsome cheeses 
"Inch are known as Gruyere. 

Every herdsman has, up in the mountain, a 
chalet, which is a wretched place for human 
habitation, although mostly built of stone. It 
is roofed with small deal planks called bardeaux; 
heavy stones, 'laid in rows upon them, press 
them down, and prevent the storms from strip- 
ping them off. The interior of a chalet is divided 
into three apartments; a well-closed stable or 
cow-house, to lodge the cattle at night ; a nar- 
row and cool dairy, where the milk is kept in 
broad wooden bowls ; and a kitchen, which also 
serves as a bedroom, where the herdsman not 
unfrequently sleeps on a bed of straw. The 
kitchen is furnished with a vast chimney, in 
which hangs an enormous caldron, for warming 
the milk and helping to convert it into cheese. 
As the chalet is our residence the whole sum- 
mer long, we are obliged to store it with many 
little articles of necessity, to save having to go 
down to the valley to fetch them when wanted 

Our season hardly finishes before St. Denis's- 
day, the 9th of October. "We then quit the 
mountain, again making a holiday, delighted to 
return to our families. But we do not lead an 
idle life in the village, any more than we did at 
the chalet. We are accustomed to depend upon 
ourselves, and are obliged to turn our hands to 
everything. We make household utensils, tools, 
and furniture; we carve wood into fancy ar- 
ticles, which are afterwards dispersed all over 
Europe. But, what is of the greatest impor- 
tance, the winter allows us spare time for our 
education. If the path to the school is not 
always open, the children are made to learn 
their lessons at home. The art of writing is 
not forgotten ; and by reading aloud, we amuse 
and instruct others as well as ourselves. It was 
a good thing for me that I was so brought up. 
If I had not had these resources in my trouble, 
I know not what would have become of me. 
One thing at least is clear : the journal which 
follows could not have existed. Although only 
a Swiss country-lad, I have been able to write 
some sort of a history. Here it is, as I was 
able to note it down from day to day. 

November 22. Since it is the will of God 
that I and my grandfather should be imprisoned 
in this chalet, 1 intend to record in writing what 
happened to us. If we are destined to perish 
here, our relations and friends will learn how 
our last days were spent ; if we are delivered, 
this journal will preserve the recollection of 
our dangers and our sufferings. It is also my 
grandfather's wish that I should undertake it. 

The day before yesterday, in the village, we 
had been expecting my father for several weeks 
past. St. Deiiis's-day was over ; all the herds 
had come down from the mountain together 
with their keepers. My father alone failed to 
make his appearance, and we began to ask, 

"What can possibly detain him?" I lost my 
mother three years ago; but my uncles and 
aunts assured me that I need not make myself 
uneasy ; that probably there remained some 
grass to be eaten, and that was why my father 
kept the herd a little later np the mountain. 

At last, my grandfather became alarmed. He 
said, " I will go myself and see why Franjois 
does not come. I shall not be sorry to see the 
chalet once more. Who knows whether I shall 
be able to visit it next summer ? Will you like 
to come with me ?" 

It was the very request I was going to make ; 
for, as 1 have no mother, we are almost always 
together. We were soon ready to start. We 
mounted slowly, sometimes following narrow 
gorges, sometimes skirting the brink of deep 
precipices. About a quarter of a league before 
we came to the chalet, I was attracted by 
curiosity to the edge of a very steep rock. My 
grandfather, who had told me more than once 
that lie did not like my doing so, hastened for- 
ward to pull me back ; but a large stone, rolling 
backwards as he stepped upon it, caused him to 
sprain his foot, and put him to considerable 
pain. But in a few minutes he felt better, and 
we hoped that no bad consequences would ensue. 
With the help of his stout holly stick, and by 
leaning on my shoulder, he was able to drag 
himself as far as this place. 

My father was greatly surprised to see us. 
He was busy preparing for his departure; so 
that if we had quietly waited at home one day 
longer, his arrival would have put an end to our 
uneasiness. That very same evening, Pierre 
was to set off with the remainder of the cheeses. 

After a short repose, my grandfather asked 
me, " Are you very tired, Louis ?" The man- 
ner in which he made the inquiry seemed to be- 
tray some secret intention, and I did not give a 
very decided answer. "I was thinking," he 
added, "that it might be prudent to send on 
the boy with Pierre. The wind has changed dur- 
ing the last half-hour, and may perhaps bring 
us bad weather in the course of the night." 

My father expressed the same fear, and urged 
me to follow that counsel. 

"I had much rather wait for you," I said. 
" Grandfather, with his lame foot, stands in 
great need of a good night's rest." 

There hung over the lire a boiler which I re- 
garded with greedy eyes. My father understood 
the signal, and served us some soup made of 
maize-flour and milk, which we ate, like soldiers, 
all out of one bowl. It was agreed that we 
should all go down together next day, which 
was yesterday. After which, I went to bed and 
fell asleep, without paying much attention to 
what was said by my father and grandi'atlier, 
who had a long conversation in an. under tone 
after their supper. 

Next morning I was quite surprised to see 
the mountain all covered with while. The snow 
was still falling with unusual heaviness, being 
driven by a violent wind. I should have been 
highly amused, had I not remarked my relations' 
anxiety. I was very uneasy myself, when I saw 

Cbirlei blckeu.] 


COctalrZ7, I 


my grandfather try to take a few steps, and drag 

!!' along with great diilieult.y, supporting 

himself by the furniture and against, tin: wall 

Tin- accident of the day before, had caused hi-, 

swell, and made it very painful. 

" Go," he said. " Lead away the child, before 
the snow is deeper. You see it is impossible 
for me to accompany you." 

" I '.nl. do you suppose, father, I can abandon 
you iu that way ?" 

\Ve spent a good portion of the day without 
coming to a decision. We had still hopes that 
lance would be sent to us from the village. 
I said that I was big enough to do without a 
guide, and to help my lather to drive the herd. 
My representations were of no use ; my grand- 
fat her persisted in his resolution. He would 
not expose us to danger, by becoming a burden 
on us. 

.My father insisted, almost angrily. I wept 
\\liilc I witnessed the painful altercation. At 
last I contrived to put an end to it, by saying, 
" Leave me also in the chalet ; you will reach 
home all the sooner. You will come back with 
sufficient help to fetch us. Grandfather will have 
somebody to wait upon him and keep him com- 
pany. We shall take care of one another, and 
Providence will take care of us both." 

" The boy is right," my grandfather said. 
" The snow is already so deep, and the storm 
so violent, tliat I apprehend more danger from 
his following you than from his staying with me. 
, Francois, take my stick, it is a strong one 
and pointed with iron. It will help you down 
the mountain, as it helped me up. Let the 
cows out of the stable ; leave us the goat and 
all Ihe provisions which remain. I am more 
anxious about you than I am about myself." 

When my father was on the point of starting, 
I gave him a handsome flask covered with fine 
wicker-work, which was a present from my mo- 
ther, the first time I came up to the chalet. It 
contained wine which I had provided for my 
grandfather the day before. He pressed me in 
his arms. 

We drove out the herd, which appeared much 
surprised to find the earth covered with snow. 
Some of the cows seemed at a loss to find their 
way, aud kept running in circles round the 
chalet. At List they congregated in a body, 
and set off in the right direction. At a very 
few paces' distance, both my father and the herd 
disappeared, being lost to sight in the wliirls of 
snow. When we saw them no longer, my grand- 
r appeared to follow them with his eyes. 
He leaned in silence against the window, but 
his lips appeared to be articulating words ; his 
hands were clasped and his eyes raised to heaven. 

We were roused from serious thoughts by 
the increasing violence of the wind. We 
wrapped round by a curtain of thick black clouds, 
and nightfall came almost suddenly. .V verthe- 
less, our wooden clock had only just struck 
three. We had been so anxious all day long, 
that we had never thought of taking food, and 1 
was dying of hunger. At that moment, I made 
grandfather listen how the goat was bleating. 

"Poor Blanchettc !" he said. "She wants 
to be relieved of her milk. She is calling us to 
come and do it. Light the lamp ; we will go 
and milk her, and then we will sup." 

The wind roared loudly ; it forced its way 
under the bardcaux of the roof, making them 
rattle ; you would have fancied the whole roof 
was going to be carried away. 

"Don't be alarmed," my grandfather said. 
" This house has resisted many a like attack. 
The bardeaux are laden with very heavy stones, 
and the roof, with its slight inclination, gives 
very little hold to the wind." 

When the goat saw us she redoubled her 
bleatings ; she seemed as if she would break her 
rope to get at us. How greedily she licked the 
Cew grains of salt which I offered in my hand. 
She gave us a large pot of milk. I stood in 
need of it. My grandfather said, as we returned 
to the kitchen, "We must take good care not 
to forget Blanchette ; we must feed her well, 
and milk her punctually morning and evening. 
Our life depends on hers." 

After supper, we sat down by the fire ; but 
the flakes of snow which fell down the chimney 
almost extinguished it. A cold draught of air 
also descended, and we could only keep our- 
selves warm by going to bed, after commending 
ourselves, by prayer, to the Lord's protection. 

This morning, on waking, I found myself in 
complete darkness, and at first supposed that 
sleep had left me earlier than usual ; but hear- 
ing my grandfather groping his way about the 
room, 1 rubbed my eyes, and saw none the 
clearer for that. The snow had blocked up the 

" The window is low," the old man remarked. 
" Besides, it is probable that the snow has been 
drifted into a heap on that particular spot ; per- 
haps we should not find it more than a couple 
of feet deep a few paces from the wall." 

" In that case, they will come and help us 
out ?" 

" I hope so ; but, supposing that we are to 
be detained here for any length of time, we must 
see what resources we have ; when we have done 
that, we will consider how we can best employ 
them. The day has dawned, there can be no 
doubt ; for the hour-hand of the wooden clock 
points to seven. It is fortunate I did not forget 
to wind it up last night. We must always be 
punctual with Blanchette." 

November 23. Yesterday morning, when we 
discovered jthat we were more close prisoners 
than we were the day before, we were very much 
depressed and saddened ; nevertheless, we did 
not forget our breakfast and the goat. Whilst 
grandfather was milking her, I watched him 
closely, with great attention. He noticed it, 
and advised me to try and learn to milk, in order 
to replace him, in case of need. I made an 
attempt, which was clumsy and unsuccessful at 
first, especially as Blanchette kept wincing and 
shifting her aryand, as if aware of my inexpe- 
rience ; but 1 improved greatly after three or 
four trials. 

When we had taken stock of our provisions 

[October 27, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

and utensils, we wished to know what sort of 
weather it was out of doors. I went under 
the chimney and looked up through the only 
outlet which remained open in the chalet. In 
a few minutes, the sun suddenly shone upon 
the snow which rose around the opening to a 
considerable height. I pointed out the circum- 
stance to my grandfather. We could exactly 
distinguish the thickness of the layer of snow, be- 
cause the chimney does not rise outside above 
the roof. In fact, there is simply a hole in the 
roof, the outside chimney having been blown 
down in a storm. 

"If we had a ladder," my grandfather said, 
" you might get up and disengage a trap which 
your father lately fixed on the top of the 
chimney, to keep out cold and wet, until the 
outer chimney is repaired." 

" Never mind the ladder," I replied. " I 
saw in the stable a long fir-pole, and that is all 
I want. I have often climbed up trees no 
thicker than that, and the pole has still its bark 
on, which makes it easier to mount." 

I set to work, tying a string to my waistband, 
to haul up a shovel after I got to the top. I 
managed so well with feet and hands, and by 
pressing against the walls of the chimney as the 
Savoyards do, that I reached the roof. With 
the shovel, I cleared away an open space, and 
found that there was about three feet of snow 
on the roof. Around the chalet it appeared to 
me that there was a great deal more. In fact, 
the wind had swept it up into a heap ; never- 
theless, there must have fallen an enormous 
mass ot snow in a very short space of time. 
Everything round about the chalet is hidden 
under a thick white carpet ; the forest of fir- 
trees, which surrounds it in the direction of the 
valley, and which shuts in the prospect, is white 
like the rest, with the exception of the trunks, 
which appear all black. Many trees are crushed 
by the weight ; I saw large branches, and even 
stems, that were broken into fragments. At 
that moment, there blew a strong and bitter 
cold wind from the north ; the dark clouds which 
it drove before it opened at intervals. Gleams 
of sunshine flashed through the openings, and 
ran over the field of snow with the swiftness of 
an arrow. 

The cold began to lay hold of me. When I 
tried to describe to my grandfather what 1 saw, 
lie heard that my teeth chattered. He told me 
to make haste and clear the trap, and as far as I 
could reach around the aperture of the chimney. 
It took some time, and was hard work ; but it 
warmed me. [Following my grandfather's direc- 
tions, I passed the string I had brought through 
a pulley, in such a way that, by pulling from 
below, the trap would open, while its own weight 
would cause it to shut. When we had rehearsed 
this little manoeuvre two or three times, to see 
that it worked properly, I descended more easily 
than I had mounted. 

My clothes were all wet, and I had no others 
to put on. We lighted a bright fire of twigs 
ana fir-cones ; and then, lowering the trap and 
leaving no more than the necessary space for 

the smoke to escape, we spent the greater part 
of the day by the chimney-corner, with no other 
light than that from the hearth ; for our stock 
of oil was very small, and we clearly saw that we 
must not expect to quit our prison so soon. We 
did not light our lamp till it was time to milk 
the goat. 

We find it a very unaccustomed and melan- 
choly life, to have to drag through a whole day 
in this dull manner. Still I think that the hours 
would be less wearisome, if we were not living 
in a constant state of expectation. It always 
seems as if some one were on the point of coming 
to rescue us. I mounted a second time upon 
the roof to look whether anybody had arrived ; I 
incessantly questioned grandpapa. He is in 
hopes, he says, that my father reached home 
safely; but perhaps the roads are completely 
choked by the drifted snow. 

At last, after completely closing the chimney 
by means of the trap, we went to bed, hoping 
that somebody might come to our assistance 
to-day ; but this morning we find that, for the 
present, the thing is almost impossible. As far 
as we can observe, it must have snowed all night. 
We had considerable difficulty in opening the 
trap to light our fire ; I found two feet of fresh 

November 25. The snow continues to fall 
abundantly. I have again had great difficulty 
in raising the trap. We think it prudent to 
clear the roof of a portion of the snow with 
which it is laden. It employed a great part of 
the day. I leave under my feet a layer of snow 
sufficiently thick to keep out the cold, and I 
throw off the rest. 

It is some amusement to escape out of my 
dungeon for a little while ; and yet, what I do 
see is very sad. The inequalities of the ground 
around us are scarcely distinguishable ; the whole 
landscape is most forlorn. The earth is white, 
the sky is black. I have read at school the 
narratives of voyages in the Icy Sea and ihe 
Polar regions ; I fancy we must be transported 
there. But since those wretched travellers, who 
suffered so much from cold and incurred such 
great dangers, have sometimes returned to their 
native land, I hope that we also shall see my 
father and our village again. 

We are not deprived of every comfort in our 
sequestered habitation. We have found more 
hay and straw than Blanchette would consume 
in a whole twelvemonth for food and bedding. 
If she continues to yield us milk, we have in her 
a valuable resource. But an accident might de- 
prive us of her ; and we were very glad to iind, in 
a corner of the stable, a small stock of potatoes. 
We have begun to cover them with straw, to pro- 
tect them from the frost. My father had packed 
the woodstack also in the stable ; but there is 
not enough to carry us through a long winter. 
We did right, therefore, in thinking of closing 
the trap at the times when we have no urgent 
need of fire ; as we have reason to fear that our 
fuel may run short, it is a good thing to be able 
to keep out the cold. Fortunately, the snow, 
which imprisons us, also shelters us. I am sur- 

Charlti Diektoi.] 


[Octobor r, ineaj 65 

prised that we feel the cold so little, buried up 
as we are. " That is why," my grandfather ob- 
served, " the young wheat gets through the 
winter so well.'" We will do the same. We 
will lie snug and close all the winter, and in 
spring we will put our heads out of the window. 
But what a wearisome time we have to get 
through till then ; and God grant that that may 
be all we have to suffer ! 

To make up for the wood we have a heap of 
fir-cones, which I partly collected myself, to 
bum at the village. It is a mere chance they 
were not taken there. And in short, if we are 
driven to it, we shall not hesitate to burn the 
hay-racks and the mangers in the stable. When 
it becomes a question of life and death, we must 
not look too closely at trifles; we shall be 
acting like the navigators who cast their cargoes 
into the sea. 

Our people had already in part unfurnished 
the chalet. What we regret the least, is the 
great caldron for making cheese. They have 
left us a few necessary kitchen utensils ; and 
besides, a hatchet all jagged at the edges, and a 
saw which will hardly cut. We have each of 
us a pocket-knife. Although our housekeep- 
ing articles are very incomplete, we shall manage 
to get on with these. We much more regret 
the provisions : ours are but scanty. What a 
pity we could only find three loaves, of the sort 
which are kept for a whole year in the moun- 
tain, and which are obliged at last to be chopped 
up with a hatchet ! We also found plenty of 
salt, a small quantity of ground coffee, five 
bottles of old white wine, a little oil, and a small 
stock of pork lard. 

We have only one bed, but we sleep at our 
ease. According to our mountain custom, it is 
big enough to hold five or six persons. It stands 
in the corner of our only living-room, which is 
also the kitchen and the cheese factory. Only 
one blanket has been left us ; if it is not enough, 
we must make use of hay and straw. " I only 
wish," I said, " that I could do as the marmots 
do, go to sleep and remain torpid until the re- 
turn of spring." 

November 26. While examining the state 
of our furniture and our provisions, I have 
searched into every corner, to see if I could not 
find some books. I knew that my father never 
went up to the chalet without taking with him a 
Bible and several religious books, which he read 
to his workmen on Sundays, to supply in some 
degree the public service which they attend in 
the village. But, apparently, he had sent his 
little library away. 

We much regretted, in our solitary prison, 
not having this means of sustaining and con- 
soling ourselves during our long watches. To- 
day, having noticed, behind the old oak ward- 
robe, a plank which somebody had stuck there 
out of the way, I pulled it out, thinking that it 
might serve some useful purpose. With it, there 
fell down an old dusty book which must have 
been lost and forgotten for several years. It 
was a Bible. 

November 27. Continually snowing ! It is 

rare to see so great a quantity fall even at this 
season, and on the mountains, in spite of that, 
I cannot get over my surprise at my father's 
not coming to our assistance, nor can I help 
expressing it. Hitherto, mj grandfather has 
not allowed me to perceive hit uneasiness ; our 
conversation to-day has showt that he is not 
less alarmed than myself. 

" In fact," I said, " this immense fall of snow 
did not come all at once. OL the first, the 
second, and even the third day of our captivity, 
they might, one would think, hive cleared a 
path up to the chalet." 

" I am certain," said my grandfuher, "that 
Francois has done all he could ; butperhaps he 
could not get our friends and neighbours to 
share his fears, and it was out of hit power to 
rescue us without assistance." 

" Do you believe that, if it had been possible 
to fetch us away, they would have left us here, 
at the risk of finding us dead in the ipring P 
Can they be less humane than the penons of 
whom we read in the newspapers, who mate the 
greatest exertions, often at the peril of their 
fives, to save some unfortunate fellow-creiture 
who is buried in a mine, in digging a wel, or 
under a vault which has fallen in ?" 

" I grant, my dear Louis, that our position is 
very sad ; but, after all, they know that we are 
under shelter, and have some provisions." 

We went on for some time in this strah. 
When my grandfather was silent, I took he 
hands in mine, and said : 

" Hide nothing from me, I entreat you. Tell 
me, are you not quite as uneasy as I am ? Speak 
frankly. I am able to bow with resignation to 
the will of God ; I therefore deserve your con- 
fidence. Acquaint me with your suppositions, 
and do not let me torment myself with my own 
alone. I had rather look misfortune full m the 
face, and know what you really think." 

" Well, my poor boy, I cannot deny that I 
fear some accident has happened to your father. 
Now it has come to this, I had better tell you 
so at once. But, in short, I hardly know what 
to think of it ; because, in default of him, other 
persons ought to have borne us in mind." 

At this, I could restrain my tears and sobs no 
longer. My grandfather allowed me to give 
way to my grief. The fire went out as we sat 
before it. We remained there in the dark, till 
it was quite late. My grandfather kept one of 
my hands in his, pressing it from time to time. 

" I have told you my fears," he said, at last ; 
" but do not forget that I still have hopes. We 
cannot tell what unforeseen cause may have pre- 
vented their coming. All may yet turn out 
well. Put your trust in Providence." 

December 1. I cannot conquer the terror 
which seizes me as I write this date. If some 
of the November days appeared so long and 
\vcarisome, what will they be this month ? At 
least it would be bearable if we were sure this 
were the last of our captivity ! But I no longer 
dare fix any term to it. The snow is heaped up 
to such a height that it, looks as if it would 
take the whole summer long to melt it. It is 

GG [October 27, ISfiO.] 


[Conducted by 

now on a level with the roof; and if I did not 
get up every day to clear the chimney, we 
should soon be unable to open the trap or to 
light a fire. 

It vexes me that my grandfather cannot some- 
times step out of this confined vault into the 
open air. I asked him this morning what he 
longed for the most, and he said, "A ray of sun- 
shine. Nevertheless," he added, "our lot is 
much less wntched than that of very many pri- 
soners-, a number of whom have not deserved 
imprisonmert any more than we have. Wo 
enjoy a certain amount of liberty in our seclu- 
sion, and ve find subjects of amusement which 
arc not atainable inside the four walls of a 
dungeon- we are not visited every day by a 
suspicion or cruel or even an indifferent gaoler. 
The evils which we suffer from the hand of God 
have ne/er the bitterness of those which we be- 
lieve ve may attribute to the injustice of men ; 
and l.-stly, my boy, we are not hi solitary con- 
finement ; and, if your presence here causes me 
to fed regret for your sake, which I make no 
attenpt to conceal, it also sustains me, and is 
almtst necessary to my existence. I do not 
thirk you are very dissatisfied with your compa- 
nioi; everything about us, even up toBlanchette, 
is some alleviation to our captivity, and I assure 
you it is not merely for her milk's sake that I 
'feel attached to her." 

These last words set me thinking, and I pro- 
posed to let the poor creature live more in our 
company. " She is uncomfortable all alone in 
the stable," I said ; " she bleats frequently, and 
that may do her harm, and us also. What is 
there to hinder us from letting her have a 
corner here ? There is plenty of room for all 
of' us. She will be much obliged to us for 
the honour we do her." I nailed a little 
manger against the wall, in the corner where 
she would be the least in our way, fixing it 
firmly with a couple of stakes ; and, without 
further delay, introduced Blauchette into our 

How delighted she is at, the change ! She 
does nothing but thank us, in her way. . If it 
went on so, she would become fatiguing ; but 
when she is accustomed to her novel position, 
she will be quieter. At this very moment, while 
I am committing these details to paper, she is 
lying on some fresh litter, chewing the cud 
peaceably, and gazing at me so contentedly that 
she seems to guess I am writing her his- 
tory. Hitherto, she has wanted for nothing, 
and at least there is one happy being inside the 

December 3. The sunshine to-day attracted 
me out on the roof. Cold dry weather has suc- 
ceeded to the continued snow-storms. How 
my eyes were dazzled by the great white ex- 
panse, and how beautiful the forest looked ! I 
hardly dared mention to grandfather the de- 
light it gave me ; but it suggested that I might 
dig away the snow in front of the door, and 
make a sloping path upwards from it to the 
surface of the snowdrift. I have already sot 
to work, and my grandfather will soon enjoy 

what he has long been wishing for, a ray of 

December 4. My task progresses ; I labour 
at it as long as my grandfather will allow. The 
idea had struck him before it occurred to me, 
and I have scolded him for not communicating 
it. He was afraid that the exertion and the 
moisture to my feet might do me harm. 

Decembers. We can step out of our house; 
the path is made ; I have had the pleasure of lead- 
ing my grandfather along it, supporting him on 
one side. We remained several minutes at the 
end of our avenue, which is not long ; but the 
day was gloomy, and it made us very sad to see 
the black forest, the cloudy sky, and the snow 
surrounding us with the silence of death. We 
beheld only one living creature, a bird of prey, 
which passed at a distance with a hoarse 
scream. It flew down towards the valley in the 
direction of our village. The pagans would 
have derived some omen from it, but we have 
no such superstition. 

December 9. What a dreadful day ! I had 
yet to learn what a hurricane up in the moun- 
tains was like. I can hardly describe what 
passed out of doors. We heard a frightful 
roaring. When we tried to open the door ajar, 
the chalet was filled with a whirlwind of snow ; 
the wind rushed in with such fury that we had 
great difficulty in closing the door again. We were 
obliged to drop the trap of the chinwy ; and, be- 
sides, it was impossible to light a fire, because the 
smoke was continually driven down again. We 
ate our milk without boiling it. My grandfather 
keeps up my courage by his calm behaviour, as 
well as by his grave and pious words. At the 
time when one would say that the wrath of God 
was hanging over us, he speaks to me of His 
compassion and His mercy. On trying a second 
time to open the door, we found that a mass of 
snow had fallen back upon it, so that we are 
completely imprisoned*as before. What I most 
regret is my window; it is drifted up again. 
Decidedly, as soon as the weather permits, I 
will make a fresh attempt to regain a little light 
and liberty. 

December 11. The cold is much sharper. 
Although we are buried under the snow, which 
perhaps prevents our hearing the storm, the 
frost strikes to our very bones. My grandfather 
says that, to be felt so keenly inside the chalet, 
the cold must be extremely intense. He 
supposes that the wind has changed to the 

December 13. I was milking the goat, while 
my grandfather lighted the fire. Suddenly, she 
pricked up her ears, as if she heard some extra- 
ordinary noise. She trembled violently Irom 
head to foot. 

" What is the matter, Blanchcttc ?" I asked, 
caressing her. I could now hear the noises ; 
they were low and distant bowlings, which gra- 
dually grew louder and louder. We then heard 
hundreds of feet pattering on the crisp snow 
overhead ; we heard a rusli of animals, a fierce 
struggle above us, mingled with horrid cries 
that made my blood run cold. 

Cbvlet Dickeni.] 


, IMP.) 07 

is that ?" I asked, though I knew 
v, !i;it it must be, without asking. 

" Hush ! The wolves !" said my grandfather 
in a whisper, blowing out the light and extin- 
guishing the fire. " Keep Blanchette quiet ; 
take her in your arms, and give her a little salt 
to lick, to keep her from bleating." 


lie a former number of this periodical,* the 
present writer endeavoured to illustrate the 
great injustice and the evil working of the pw- 
chase system in the commissioned ranks of the 
British army. Nearfy twenty years' experience 
iu the service has convinced him that whatever 
other reforms our military organisation has need 
of, all changes which leave promotion by pur- 
chase part of our army code, are and will be in 
vain. Not only is the law which allows an officer 
who has a certain sum of money at command to 
pass over the head of all those who cannot com- 
mand that amount, a standing disgrace to our 
service and to onr country, btrt it is the leaven of 
evil which lias leavened the whote himp of our 
regimental system high and low, from the colonel 
to the private. 

Take, for instance, the humbler ranks of the 
service; what is it that prevents young men of 
what may be culled the lower middle class the 
sons of small farmers, petty shopkeepers, and 
Buch-like from enlisting in our army? Here 
and there an individual of this standing may be 
found, but seldom or never one who has entered 
the army with the intention of making it his 
calling for Kfe. How many of this class ever 
rise ? How many even hope ever to rise, in the 
profession of arms ? Yet, is not an increase of 
this class much wanted in our ranks, and would 
it not tend to diminish greatly the number of 
inmates hi our military prisons, the number of 
offenders against military law? Do not this 
class flock in thousands to Canada, to Australia, 
to wherever English pluck and English strength 
are likely to push men on in the world ? How 
is it, then, that more of this raw material does not 
find its way into our army? The reply is easy; 
so plain, that any child may read it. There is 
virtually no advancement for our non-commis- 
->1 officers to the higher ranks ; and even if 
one of that excellent class than which there 
does not exist a more praiseworthy set of men in 
the world does obtain a commission, he is per- 
force obliged to remain in the junior ranks ; for, 
without money, there is unless in rare and ex- 
ceptional cases no promotion in the fingliah 

Like most military men, the writer is pretty 
well acquainted with the contents of the Army 
List, but from first to last of that compendious 
volume, he does not know a single individual 
who from the ranks lias risen to be a field- 

* See Money or Merit, rolnme in., page 86. 

officer. Here and there they might be counted 
on one's fingers there exists a captain who was 
once a non-commissioned officer, and who, after 
obtaining his commission after being 1 purchased 
over again and again by his juniors who were 
probably not born when lie commenced soldiering 
has at hist attained unto the rank of captain ; 
only, however, to retire from the sen-ice as soon 
as possible, being already too old for active 
service of any kind. Of subalterns there are 
certainly some two for each regiment is 
above the average who have risen from the 
ranks; but these, after a few years, invari- 
ably become spiritless soldiers and hopeless 
men, for they are aware that, not having 
money, they can advance no higher in their pro- 
fession. In fact, a non-commissioned officer is 
seldom promoted until he is an elderly man. 
The writer knows a cavalry quartermaster 
who enlisted as a private dragoon in 1822; 
but was only promoted to be a commissioned 
officer thirty-one years later, when he was up- 
wards of fifty years of age. If this man, who 
saw plenty of active service a quarter of a 
century before he got his commission, was fit to 
promote so late in life, surely he was so 
at an earlier period. Another gallant officer of 
his acquaintance who enlisted in 1812, went 
through several campaigns in India, but only ob- 
tained a commission in the year of grace 1844. 
The truth is as the upholders of the pur- 
chase system maintain the non-commissioned 
officers of the English army, as a body, care 
little to be promoted ; for they know full well 
that, not having money, they cannot hold their 
own in the race for further advancement. Such 
a thing as a poor but well-educated young man 
enlisting in the English army, and working his 
way by degrees through the non-commissioned 
ranks until, whilst yet in the prime of hfe, he 
attains the rank of field-officer, is unheard of 
in our service; were it otherwise, how much 
easier would be the recruiting-sergeant's task ; 
how much fewer the punishments in our 
regiments! At present, a few sanguine indi- 
viduals of a better class of life than the ordinary 
run of our recruits do occasionally enlist, chiefly 
in our dragoon regiments ; but these seldom or 
ever remain longer in the service thro they cam 
help, for they see how utterly useless it is to 
hope for advancement' without money in the 
English army. 

Our neighbours manage these matters much 
better. Very many young Frenchmen, of good 
birth and fair education, join the army as volun- 
teer recruits, sure that in due time, with good 
behaviour, they will rise even to the highest 

It is not the wish of the writer of these lines 
to see the whole British army officered by men 
who have served in the ranks. Bat he looks 
upon the purchase system as one which must be 
abolished before the English military service can 
become what it ought to be. All the late rales 
and regulations regarding the examination of 

68 [October 27, I860.] 


[Conductod by 

candidates for commissions and for subsequent 
promotion, although good in themselves, are 
powerless for any real good, so long as money 
remains a sine qua non for advancement. 

There can be no doubt that if the working of 
the purchase system were understood in all its in- 
justice by the English public, it would no longer 
be allowed to disgrace our service. Amongst 
such members of the legislature as have never 
held commissions, the subject has been very 
little understood hitherto. And, strange to say, 
there appears to be amongst civilians of all 
classes an undefined idea that, if done away 
with, promotion by purchase must be replaced by 
promotion by favouritism. It is difficult to say 
wherefore this notion has got abroad, unless 
it be that the general ignorance which exists 
regarding military matters in England has led 
men to imagine that one evil cannot be abolished 
without a still greater one taking its place. Not, 
however, that such would be the case if purchase 
gave way to selection ; for, at the present day, 
public opinion has so much to say to the acts of 
public men, that any undue act of favouritism in 
the promotion of officers would most certainly 
meet with exposure. 

Why imagine that promotion by selection 
must necessarily take the place of promotion 
by purchase ? There are four large bodies 
of English military men, second to none in all 
military virtues both in camp and quarters, in 
which officers have never yet been promoted 
either by purchasing over the heads of their 
poorer comrades, or by trusting to the favour of 
friends in power. These four are the Royal Artil- 
lery, Royal Engineers, Royal Marines, and the 
East India Army. In these services and do more 
honourable corps exist in the world ? although 
officers are selected to fill staff and other situa- 
tions according to their merit, yet no man can 
supersede his senior in regular promotion, either 
by money at his banker's or interest at the Horse 
Guards. Why should this rule not be extended 
to the whole English army ? If Lieutenant A., 
after seven, eight, or nine years' service, and after 
rising to the top of the list of subalterns, is not 
fit to be promoted to the rank of captain, be 
assured that he is unfit to hold any commission 
whatever, and the sooner his services are dis- 
pensed with the better for the public that pays 
him. The upholders of promotion by purchase 
maintain that the seniority system will keep 
officers in the junior ranks, owing to there 
not being sufficient inducement held out for the 
seniors to retire, until they are too old to be of 
any good if called into the field. But can this 
be said of any one of the four services enumerated 
above ? Merely to name these corps is to call 
forth memories of wars, and campaigns, and 
fights, and battles, and heroic deeds, such as the 
world has seldom seen equalled. It would be 
impossible to recal an instance in which an 
officer of one of these corps has failed in his duty 
on account of old age. But the possibility of 
such an event would be prevented by obliging all 

officers to retire from active service after a certain 
age, and to allow them as would be but fair and 
just an adequate pension after they retire. Nor 
would this be a heavy tax upon the public ; for, 
long after an officer is too old for the more active 
duties of his profession, he is quite young enough 
to superintend recruiting, to look after barracks, 
to perform the duties of garrison adjutant, town 
major, or commandant of depots, most, if not all 
of which are duties now performed by young, or 
comparatively young, men, who have interest to 
obtain such appointments. Of the field officers, 
adjutants, and captains now commanding and 
doing duty at the depots in Great Britain cer- 
tain never to be sent abroad the great majority 
are young, hale men; whereas many officers, 
worn down by climate and hard work, are, 
and have been for years, doing duty with their 
corps in the most unhealthy climates of the 
world. Thus, purchase in the English army 
does not prevent favouritism existing whenever 
it can find a footing in the service. 

In a recent debate in the House of Commons 
on the subject of promotion by purchase, a 
member, speaking in favour of the system, said 
that he could hardly conceive a more discordant 
body of men in the world than an English body 
of officers in which certain members of the corps 
had been selected for promotion over the heads 
of others. This may be true enough, and the 
argument might hold good, if those who, wish- 
ing the purchase system to be abolished, advo- 
cate promotion by selection taking its place. 
But, has the honourable member ever lived 
as the writer has, more than once during his 
military career in a regiment, several officers 
of which had, for want of means, been super- 
seded by their juniors ? If so, he will have 
some idea to what length hatred, envy, ma- 
lice, and all uncharitableness can be carried by 
those who, at other times, are on the best of 
terms with each other. Moreover, he most dis- 
tinctly asserts that he has witnessed amongst 
military men more quarrels and ill will caused by 
questions of exchange and promotion by pur- 
chase than by any other cause whatever. In one 
instance, the junior of his corps purchasing over 
the senior major, obtained command of the regi- 
ment, and commanded one who had formerly 
commanded him. The senior major was a Water- 
loo officer, had fought in Spain under Wel- 
lington, in India under Gough, and at the Cape 
under Smith. He had been thirty years in the 
service *w the same corps, and had more than 
once led the regiment into action. But he had 
not fourteen hundred pounds at his command. 
The junior major who superseded him had been, 
only ten years in the army, and being but twenty- 
six years of age, must have been born four years 
after his senior entered the service. But he had 
the requisite fourteen hundred pounds. 

On another occasion the writer recollects a 
corps stationed in India, in which a lieutenant of 
seven years' service superseded, by purchasing 
over their heads, no fewer than eleven of his com- 

Clmrle Dlekent.} 


[ October S7.1MO.J 69 

rades, the senior of which had been twenty, and 
two others had each been seventeen, years in the 
army. Is it to be supposed for an instant that 
promotions like these promotions, be it remem- 
Bend, which are the legitimate consequences of 
the purchase system, and which have only become 
more rare in consequence of the casualties in 
the Crimea, or in India, but which will return in 
plenty in times of peace is it to be supposed for 
an instant that such promotions do not cause 
ill- blood amongst those who are superseded P 

Take three instances all of which the writer 
has knowu iu the army in which officers have 
been obliged to leave the service. A lieutenant- 
colonel commanding a cavalry regiment, lost a suit 
in Chancery which had been bequeathed to liim 
by his father. To pay all he owed, he sold every- 
thing he had in the world, intending to exchange 
into a regiment in India, and there live by his 
profession on the increased pay which military 
men serving in that country receive. This, how- 
ever, was not enough for his creditors. His com- 
mission was a marketable commodity, and, as 
such, they obliged him to sell it and make over 
the proceeds to them, leaving himself without 
either means or a profession. The second case 
was that of a captain of infantry, who had be- 
come security for his brother's debts. The 
brother died ; there was something or other in- 
formal in the life insurance policy with which his 
liabilities were covered, and the brother in the 
army had to pay the debts, to effect which his 
creditors obliged him to sell his commission. The 
third instance which the writer recollects was 
still more severe, inasmuch as there were three 
sufferers, all brothers, all in the army, and all joint 
trustees for the property of some orphan rela- 
tives. The attorney to whom they entrusted the 
business decamped, and to make good what he 
had absconded with, all three brothers had to sell 
out of the army. In no other profession, or in 
no other country, would men have to abandon 
their means of living in order to pay even their 
own, far less the debts of others. 

If commissions in the army are to be had if 
promotion in the service is to be obtained by 
purchase, let us at least be consistent, and not 
allow poor men to mix with the wealthy. Nay, let 
us go further than this, and oblige every young 
man who obtains a commission to deposit in the 
public funds at least enough money to purchase 
him up to the top of his profession. Should he 
retire before he obtains the rank of lieutcnaut- 
coloncl, his money will be returned to him, and 
the money of those who take his p'ace will re- 
place it. Thus, in any case, we shall be spared 
the private heart-burnings, and the national dis- 
grace of seeing officers who have money su- 
persede those who have none, or who have 
little. If, on the other hand, we want our army 
to be what it ought, and to be officered by men 
who can trust to nothing but professional quali- 
fications for their advancement, let us for ever 
abolish a system which, to say the best of i f , is 
a miserable remainder of corrupt days, when all 

public places and posts were bought, sold, and 
exchanged for money. If military appointments 
are to be sold, why not sell those in the civil 
service Treasury and Post-office clerkships, 
consul and vice- consulships, custom-house offi- 
cers' berths, tide-waiters' situations, and chap- 
lains' commissions ? Let one and all be tariffed, 
and no promotion take place in any department 
unless a certain regulation price is paid for the 
advancement. Why should the English army 
alone be disgraced by the table of rates, or Prices 
of Commissions, which figures at the end of every 
Army List ? Let us, at any rate, be consistent ; 
and, if we are to have any situations under go- 
vernment bought and sold, let all be bought and 


NOT mysteries of crime ; no account of secret 
societies that exist in the heart of London the 
Odd-Fellows, the Druids, the Codgers, the 
Foresters, the Rum Pum Pas; no revelations 
of unknown horrors going on in the innermost 
recesses of Paris; no trackings out of hidden 
villanies perpetrated in nooks and corners of 
that city no one of these things is going just 
now to be made the subject of discussion. Nor 
are the wonderful mechanical but hidden contri- 
vances by which the inhabitants of these two 
cities are supplied with gas and water, nor the 
secrets of the great sewers, of the Morgue, 
of the Dark Arches, to be treated of in this 
paper. The shut-un and deserted houses in 
Stamford-street, Blackfriars-road, London, again, 
it might be legitimately supposed, were likely 
to be included in our mysteries of London. 
Those houses in rows of two or three together 
which no human being ever enters, which are 
black and horrible to look at, which have not 
one single pane of unbroken glass in any one of 
their windows, and the floors of whose rooms 
must be covered with the missiles by which 
the glass was broken. Those houses are said 
to belong to an eccentric old lady. It is a 
question whether old ladies, as a class, are to be 
trusted with house property. We all remember 
that terrible old lady whom we used to be so 
afraid of when we were little, who used to live 
in the house with the boarded up windows, and 
whose hollow-sounding knocker used to be plied 
all day by the boy population of the neighbour- 
hood. Enough of this old lady, however. The 
mysteries proposed to be dealt with are of a 
more familiar and less alarming kind than the 
Stamford-street houses, but they are none the 
less deep and inscrutable for all that. 

Now there are some mysteries which I do not 
expect to have explained to me. I am content 
to receive them, abandoning all hope of compre- 
hension. They are too much for me, and I 
make no secret that they are so. To this clas? 
belongs the mystery of India, This country 
seems to consider India, and India alone, as 
important. Every family sends some of its 
members to India. We fight for India, with 

70 [October 27, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

India, in India; we impoverish ourselves (do- 
mestically) to pay for the Indian servants who 
fan our sons who are slowly dying in India, and 
of India. They come back sick, with ruined 
constitutions, from India. They contract tre- 
mendously expensive habits in India, and cannot 
shake them off when they return to the compa- 
ratively unimportant mother country. It is no 
matter, all must be borne, all must be done, for 

Now, one of the mysteries which I do not ask 
to have explained to me, and to which I am 
wholly resigned, lies in this belief in India. I 
cannot understand it. I can comprehend that a 
certain number of valuable and desirable articles 
come to us from India, but they do not seem 
worth all this fuss. One can get through a day 
mnguificently, without India. One can eat, 
drink, and be clothed luxmiously, without India : 
one can be amused without India. It seems to 
me that we go through all I have spoken of 
above, and a great deal more, for the sake of a 
few jewels, a lot of Cashmere shawls which no- 
body can afford to buy, and for those everlasting 
species concerning the importation of which we 
used to learn so much at school. These things 
are very important, no doubt, but are they im- 
portant enough to produce the sensation they 
do? We keep up armies and expend millions for 
the sake of some drugs, for wonderful things 
called jute, and turmeric, and for Indigo. This 
Indigo, by-the-by, is another mystery. What 
inconceivable importance seems to attach to 
this blue dye! If we supported nature by 
dying ourselves blue, if everything we wore were 
of a dark-blue tinge, if the whole nation were 
dressed after the fashion of the Metropolitan 
Police force if all these things were so, we 
could hardly make more fuss than we do about 
Indigo. The City of London seems altogether 
devoted to Indigo, and if you go into the docks 
and ask what all the bales of goods contain, the 
answer is Indigo, Indigo, Indigo. American 
cotton, tea from China, sugar from the West 
Indies, these are things the importance of 
which one understands, but the degree of sacri- 
fice that is cheerfully made for India remains 
still a great and terrible mystery. 

It is one, however, which I am content to 
leave unapproached, and to abandon as one does 
parliamentary and pecuniary mysteries, prices of 
stocks, the English funds, and other hopeless 
matters. But there are some secrets which one 
is less resigned about, some riddles which one 
is more impatient to solve, some " Mysteries 
of London" which it really disturbs one's peace 
of mind to have to abandon as inexplicable. 

The perfumers' shops ! llow are they kept 
up ? In one street in London (it is called 
Bond-street), I myself have counted seven large 
perfumers' shops, and six more which I do 
not take into account because they are hair- 
cutting temples as well. Seven enormous old- 
established shops, in one street, for the sale of 
perfumery! What can this mean? Would not 
any one in the world have thought that one 
single shop on the scale of a Bond-street Em- 

porium would alone have proved enough, not 
only for all England, but for all the world? 
How few people we know, are perfumed. How 
many there are in good circumstances who never 
buy a bottle of scent from one year's end to 
another, unless it is a bottle of eau-de-Cologne 
or lavender-water. Think of these shops, of 
Rimmel's in the Strand, of Hendrie's and many 
more in Regent-street and elsewhere, is it not 
wonderful how they are all maintained ? 

But if the perfumers are a mystery of an 
unfathomable nature, what shall we say of the 
silversmiths and jewellers in Oxford-street? 
How seldom people want the wares sold by 
these gentry; and when they do want sucii 
matters, do they employ a small and unknown 
tradesman ? Surely not. When any of our 
friends require a silver teapot or half a dozen 
spoons, do they not go to Messrs. Hunt and 
Roskell, or Mr. Hancock, and buy them there ? 
What, then, is the secret of those silversmiths' 
shops in Oxford-street, with their windows 
full of what appears to represent thousands 
of pounds' worth of property ? Perhaps, if you 
wanted a sixpenny watch-key in a great hurry, 
you might go to one of these glittering ware- 
houses; but their proprietors will hardly get 
rich upon such dealings. You give these de- 
sperate tradesmen a job, only when some emer- 
gency obliges you, when that knob on the teapot 
lid comes off for the hundredth time, or when 
you want a glass to your watch. But who buys 
the hundreds of gilt clocks with inaccuracy writ- 
ten in legible characters on their faces ? Who 
purchases the cheap gold watches, and abandons 
his appointments thenceforth for ever ? Who 
is in a hurry to possess himself of one of those 
silver butter-knives, warranted to cut always 
too much butter or too little, warranted also to 
swerve wildly away in the winter season when 
the butter is hard, and to come out of the 
mother-of-pearl handle once every calendar 
month without fail ? 

These are awful questions, but still more 
terrible questions remain. Is it possible that 
one of these incomprehensible dealers ever uses 
his shop as a blind, and is really engaged in 
some nefarious business by which he makes his 
living ? Does he steal out in the dead of night 
and "engage in body-snatching ? Does he sing 
comic songs at a music hall ? Does he lend money 
in the back shop on the usual terms " fifty 
poundsh down, my dear, and fifty poundsh in 
peautiful gilt clocksh, and plated putter-knives" 
a loan to be repaid, by the " brisk minor" 
who contracts it, with his very life-blood? 

At the back of that suburban terrace, in 
which it is my fortune to reside when in Lon- 
don, is a row of shops which supply the neigh- 
bourhood with all the things they want, and in 
some cases with a few articles, as it would ap- 
pear, which they do not want. In that small 
row there are two (and used to be three) enor- 
mous medical halls or chemists' shops. Next 
to the luxury of a club-house, or of the abode 
of a stockbroker on the eve of ruin, comes 
the gorgcousuess of those two temples of phai> 

Chirlf i Dickon*.] 


[Octobr7.1MO.] 71 

macy. You arc bewildered on catering them 
by the bla/o of glass and gilding, you are ren- 
dered fain! by delicious odours, you are restored 
again l>y draughts of iw ilers which 

gush forth into long tumblers at the touching 
of a spring. Now, how arc these palaces kept 
going ? 1 pass them often, but never see any one 
making ;i purchase or giving an order. Their 
proprietors, too both profoundly miserable 
men; one being a specimen of pale misery, and 
the other, which is much more terrible, of rosy 
misery are for ever increasing their expend i I ure, 
and whenever Floridus gets a new scent-bottle 
and sticks it, in his window, or a flesh-brusli, or 
a galvanic battery, or what not, Pallidus is 
obliged to follow his lead, and the next day the 
same goods will appear in his shop as surely as 
the morning conies round. 

Now, the reason why it seems so extraordinary 
and mysterious that these two druggists are 
able to keep their heads above water is, that it 
appears to the writer that every member of his 
acquaintance gets his or her medicines either 
from Bell and Co., or from Messrs. Savory and 
Moore, as the case may be. It is true that on one 
occasion, when I had been dining with the Surgit 
Amaris, that eminent Greek firm in the City, and 
found on my return that Ihad no carbonate of soda 
in the house, it is true that I then rushed forth 
iu wild haste, and luckily finding it was Satur- 
day night that I he emporium of the rosy sufferer 
was still open, I purchased an ounce of the 
medicine of which my heated frame stood in 
need. It is impossible to describe the sensation 
made by the giving of this order. A boy, 
pining iu secret behind a desk, sprang suddenly 
into life, and instantly summoned the great 
Floridus himself from the back parlour, where 
he was perhaps supping on rose lozenges and 
Iceland moss, washed down with soda-water 
from the fountain. Both man and boy were 
kept in violent commotion for at least ten mi- 
nutes, by my order. It was entered in books 
double-entered, perhaps the drug itself was 
wrapped in paper, ana the parcel so made was 
lapped up at the end, thea the soda was shaken 
down into the lapped up end, at which point 
Floridus made a remark upon the weather, and 
I, looking round the shop, and noting its mag- 
nificence, hoped that the medicine would not 
come to less than fourpence. The parcel was 
now lapped up at the Oliver end and shaken 
down in turn to that extremity, when Floridus 
made a second remark on the weather, includ- 
ing the subject of crops, and I, seeing that 
anottar piece of magnificent paper was going to 
be pressed into the service, began to think that 
I should feel miserable if my purchase came to 
less than sixpence. When an outer paper, 
thick and soft and smooth, was hud upon the 
counter, and the already sufficiently protected 
soda was placed upon it, I would have given 
much to have bcea allowed to clutch my pur- 
chase, pay my money, and rush out of the shop. 
But this was not to be. New expenses must be 
incurred by the firm with which I was dealing, 
in supplying me with a coloured wrapper over 

all, in vast outlays of sealing-wax, and, finally, 
in the addition of an adhesive label, with " Car- 
bonate of Soda" engraved upon it iu the best 
style of printing. When the miserable Floridus 
announced that all this only came to THREE 
pence (it would have been a relief if he had 
said " thrcppencc"), I felt that men had sunk 
into the earth for less offences than I had been 
guilty of in making such a purchase. 

There are other mysteries of London besides 
the chemists' shops. Who finds the money 
and delights to spend it that keeps on foot 
those newspapers of which we are told authori- 
tatively that " they don't pay ?" Who are the 
people who are always ready to come forward 
witli the means of supporting the insolvent ma- 
nagement of a theatre ? Such capitalists are 
always forthcoming at a pinch. Where are they 
to be heard of? 

The print trade, again. Who buys those 
proofs before letters which issue from time to 
time upon the London world ? How few people 
one knows, who purchase prints. In how few 
houses do you see them hanging up. Our 
friends' walls are not decorated thus : with bad 
pictures yes ; but with prints no. 

Take the fur trade, again. How is that sus- 
tained ? How are expensive premises in fashion- 
able situations maintained by selling furs ? It is 
a ghastly sight, in the summer months, to see a 
heated shopkeeper emerge from the door of his 
warehouse and stand by the side of the stuffed 
lion, whom the moths are at work at, gazing out 
upon the world of London from under his awning ! 
A fur shop with an awning ! How that shopman 
must hate those hot stuffed animals by which he is 
surrounded. How glad he must oe that the 
moths are slowly sapping away the foundations 
of the lion's tail, and exposing the stuffing of 
the Polar bear to the eye of the curious. 

These are some of the mysteries of London. 
There are many more. What do the bakers do 
with the rows of loaves which one sometimes 
sees round their shelves at the decline of day, 
still unsold? What becomes of your unpur- 
chased bun ? Who buys the cabbages, gigantic 
cart-loads of which are imported into the metro- 
polis ? Who ever sees a caobage at table ? Who 
ever orders a cabbage for dinner ? Lastly, how 
i* the great tailoring firm of Joses and Son, in 
whose shop no human being is ever seen how is 
that kept up, and in such splendid preservation P 

But if these mysteries of commercial London 
are profound and hard of solution, what are those 
of Paris ? If the whole population of Paris were 
supported, fed, nourished, clothed, lodged, and 
washed, with jewellery, it would but hardly and 
unsatisfactorily account for the number, the in- 
calculable number, of the jewellers' shops with 
which now more than ever the metropolis of 
France is furnished. The Boulevard from one end 
to the other is all a-blaze with gold and jewel- 
lery ; and as to the Hoe de la Paix and the Palais 

lloyal But let us, being on the spot, take 

a walk round the enclosure of the Palais Royal, 
and note the exact nature of the different em- 
poriums which surround this Walhalla of luxury. 



[October 27, 1800.] 

The first shop we come to, is one wholly un- 
known in our native land ; it is an Order depot, 
a little shop, full of bits of coloured ribbon and 
medals or grand crosses ; and as everybody in 
France is decor6, it is probable that a brisk 
business is done in supplying the distinguished 
personages who may send round for an order 
at any moment, and who may not like to be 
kept waiting. Next to the Order depot, there 
is a wig shop, and then comes a china gim- 
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then 
comes a slop-shop for ready-made clothes, and 
then an opera-glass vendor's, and then a gim- 
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then 
a shop like Mechi's in Regent - street, and 
then a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then 
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then 
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a 
gimcrack shop, and then another gimcrack 
shop, and then a jeweller's, and then a gim- 
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then 
an opera- glass shop, and after that a gim- 
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then 
a jeweller's, and then a slop-shop, and then 
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a 
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then 
a jeweller's and clock shop, and then a 
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's. After this, 
comes another Mechi shop, and then another 
Order depot, and then a jeweller's, succeeded 
by an opera -glass shop, a watchmaker's, a 
Mechi shop, an artificial teeth purveyor's, a 
slop-shop, and then a jeweller's. After this 
comes a perfumer's, and then a Mechi shop, 
and then a jeweller's, and then a silver- 
smith's, and then a jeweller's, and then a gim- 
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then a 
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a 
jeweller's ; a Mechi shop next, a silversmith's, 
and then a jeweller's ; and then a photograph 
shop, and then a jeweller's; and then a watch- 
maker's, and then a jeweller's ; and then a gim- 
crack shop, and then a slop-shop. At last 
we have been travelling all this time down 
one side of the Palais Royal only at last the 
cafe at the corner. 

Now, is it to be expected that one is to sit 
down tamely, under such a state of things as 
this? But the worst of it is, that this is not all. 
The Rue de Rivoli, which is about two miles 
long, is full of jewellers' shops. The line of 
Boulevard, which is much longer, glitters again 
with jewellers' shops, and in the short space of 
the Rue de la Paix there are no less than sixteen 
of these Temples of Bewilderment. Fifty jewel- 
lers' shops in the Palais Royal, and sixteen in the 
Rue de la Paix, and how many more in the 
different Passages and the minor streets, besides 
the Boulevard and the Rue de Rivoli ! 

Who can account for the bonbon shops 
those palaces almost more magnificent than the 
warehouses of the jewellers themselves, those 
huge chocolate and sweetmeat deposits, where 
bilious women all alike, bilious themselves, 

dispensers of bile to others, sit behind coun- 
ters in a state of chronic nausea horrible to 

think of ? Stay ! A thought ! These retailers 

of bile are jewelled, and the retailers of jewels 
again are, to a man, bilious. Do the jewellers 
and the bonbon vendors mutually support each 
other? Do they make exchanges, and swap 
bonbons for jewellery, and vice versa ? Unhap- 
pily, even this would not account sufficiently 
for the difficulty we are considering. If the 
bilious women were clothed from head to foot 
with gold, and if the jewellers supported life 
horrible thought on chocolate drops only, it 
still would not account for the phenomena with 
which we are puzzling ourselves. 

There is one more thing which surely we may 
be allowed to class among the mysteries of 
Paris. The hidden pecuniary resources of the 
men in the blue blouses. The writer of these 
words wears a beautiful black coat, but he is 
unable to afford himself the luxuries that these 
men indulge in. What dinners they order at the 
restaurant ! What good places they occupy at 
the theatre ! What pleasant drives they take 
in open carriages on Sundays ! 

Now surely Eugene Sue's mysteries of Paris 
are trifles to such profound difficulties as are pre- 
sented by these commercial riddles. There is one 
more, which, applying equally to London and 
Paris, may, in conclusion, be whispered in the 
reader's ear. In what region of the earth, in 
what particular tunnelled-out portion of its 
bowels, do those hackney-carriages, whose num- 
bers come before the thousands, ply for hire? 
Many and many is the time that these weary 
bones have sunk upon the sordid plush of your 
cab, your remise, or your fiacre, out never to 
my knowledge has one of those vehicles rejoiced 
in a number even so low as five hundred. 
Where does number fifty work, number twenty, 
ten, one ? Has anybody ever seen these num- 
bers on any hired carriage ? Has anybody ever 
inhaled the air (with its combined flavour of 
bedding and manure) which the interiors of 
all the cab tribes exhibit, and which, if the 
earliest numbers have been longest on the road, 
must be in great perfection in the individual 
specimens here alluded to ? 



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ON entering the drawing-room, his excellency 
presented me to an elderly lady, very thin, and 
very wrinkled, who received me with a cold dig- 
nity, and then went on with her crochet-work. I 
could not catch her name, nor, indeed, was I 
thinking of it; my whole mind was bent upon 
the question, Who could she be ? For what 
object was she there ? All my terrible doubts 
of the morning now rushed forcibly back to my 
memory, aud I felt that never had I detested a 
human being with the h&te I experienced for 
her. The pretentious stiffness of her manner, 
the haughty self-possession she wore, were posi- 
tive outrages ; and, as I looked at her, I felt 
myself muttering, "Don't imagine that your 
heavy black moire, or your rich tails of lace, im- 
pose upon me. Never fancy that this mock 
austerity deceives one who reads human nature 
as he reads large print. I know, and I abhor 
you, old woman ! That a man should be to the 
other sex as a wolf to the fold, the sad expe- 
rience of daily life too often teaches ; but that a 
woman should be false to woman, that all the 
gentle instincts we love to think feminine should 
be debased to treachery and degraded into snares 
for betrayal, this is an offence that cries aloud 
to Heaven ! 

" No more tea none !" cried I, with an 
energy, that nearly made the footman let the 
tray fall, and so far startled the old lady, that she 
dropped her knitting, with a faint cry. As for 
his excellency, he haa covered his face with the 
Globe, and I believe was fast asleep. 

I looked about for my hat to take my leave, 
\\hen a sudden thought struck me. " I will stay. 
! will sit down beside this old creature, and, for 
once at least in her miserable life, she shall hear 
from the lips of a man a language that is not 
that of the debauchee. "Who knows what effect 
one honest word of a true-hearted man may not 
work ? I will try, at aU events," said I, and 
approached her. She did not, vis I expected, 
make room for me on the sofa beside her, and I 
was therefore obliged to take a chair in front. 
This was so far awkward that it looked formal ; 
it gave somewhat the character of accusation 
to my position, and I decided to obviate the 
difficulty by assuming a light, easv, cheerful 
manner at first, as though I suspected nothing. 

" It's a pleasant little capital, this Kalb- 
bratenstadt," said I, as I lay back in my chair. 

" Is it ?" said she, dryly, without looking up 
from her work. 

" Well, I mean," said I, " it seems to have 
its reasonable share of resources. They have 
their theatre, and their music garden, and their 
promenades, and their drives to to 

" You'll find all the names set down there," 
said she, handing me a copy of Murray's Hand- 
book that lay beside her. 

" I care less for names than facts, madam," 
said I, angrily, for her retort had stung me, and 
routed all my previous intention of a smooth 
approach to the fortress. " I am one of those 
unfashionable people who never think the better 
of vice because it wears French gloves, and goes 
perfumed with Ess bouquet." 

She took off her spectacles, wiped them, looked 
at me, and went on with her work without 

"If I appear abrupt, madam," said I, "in 
this opening, it is because the opportunity I 
now enjojr may never occur again, and may be 
of the briefest even now. We meet by what 
many would call an accident one of those in- 
cidents which the thoughtless call chance di- 
rected my steps to this place ; let me hope that 
that which seemed a hazard may bear all the 
fruits of maturest combination, and that the 
weak words of one frail, even as yourself, may 
not be heard by you in vain. Let me therefore 
ask you one question only one and give me 
an honest answer to it." 

" You are a very singular person," said she, 
" and seem to have strangely forgotten the very 
simple circumstance that we meet for the first 
time now." 

" I know it, I feel it ; and that it may also be 
for the last and only time is my reason for this 
appeal to you. There are persons who, seeing 
you here, would treat you with a mock deference, 
address you with a counterfeit respect, and go 
their ways ; who would say to their selfish hearts, 
' It is no concern of mine, why should it trouble 
me ?' But I am not one of these. I carry a 
conscience in my breast ; a conscience that holds 
its daily court, and will even to-morrow ask me, 
' Have you been truthful, have you been faith- 
ful ? When the occasion served to warn a fellow- 
creature of the shoal before him, did you cry out, 
" Take soundings ! you are iu shallow water P" 
or, " Did you with slippery phrases gloss over 



74 [\oveinber3, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

the peril, because it involved no danger to your- 

" Would that same conscience be kind enough 
to suggest that your present conduct is an im- 
pertinence, sir?" 

" So it might, madam; just as the pilot is im- 
pertinent when he cries out ' Hard, port ! breakers 
ahead !' " 

" I am therefore to infer, sir," said she, with 
a calm dignity, " that my approach to a secret 
danger of which I can have no knowledge is 
a sufficient excuse for the employment of lan- 
guage on your part that, under a less urgent 
plea, had been offensive ?" 

" You are," said T, boldly. 

" Speak out, then, sir, and declare what it 
is." ' 

" Nay, madam, if the warning find no echo 
within, my words are useless. I have said I 
would ask you a question." 

" Well, sir, do so." 

" Will you answer it frankly ? Will you give 
it all the weight and influence it should bear, 
and reply to it with that truthful spirit 
that conceals nothing ?" 

" What is your question, sir ? You had 
better be speedy with it, for I don't much trust 
to my continued patience." 

I arose at this, and, passing behind the back of 
my chair, leaned my arms on the upper rail, so as 
to confront her directly ; and then, in the voice of 
an accusing angel, I said, " Old woman, do you 
know where you are going ?" 

" I protest, sir," said she, rising, with an indig- 
nation I shall not forget " I protest, sir, you 
make me actually doubt if I know where I am !" 

" Then let me tell you, madam," said I, with 
the voice of one determined to strike terror into 
her heart "let me tell you; and may my 
words have the power to awaken you, even now, 
to the dreadful consequences of what you are 
about !" 

" Shalley ! Shalley !" cried she, in amazement, 
"is this gentleman deranged, or is it but the 
passing effect of your conviviality ?" And with 
this she swept out of the room, leaving me there 
alone, for I now perceived what seemed also 
to have escaped her that the minister had 
slipped quietly away some time before, and 
was doubtless at that same moment in the pro- 
foundest of slumbers. 

I took my departure at once. There were 
no leave-takings to delay me, and I left the 
house in a mood little according with the spirit 
of one who had partaken of its hospitalities. 
I am constrained to admit I was the very re- 
verse of satisfied with myself. It was cowardly 
and mean of me to wreak my anger on that old 
woman, and not upon him who was the really 
great offender. He it was I should have ar- 
raigned ; and with the employment of a little 
artifice and some tact, how terrible I might have 
made even my jesting levity ! how sarcastic my 
sneers at fashionable vice! Affecting utter 
ignorance about his life and habits, I could have 
incidentally thrown out little episodes of all the 
men who have wrecked their fortunes by aban- 

doned habits. I would have pointed to this 
man who made a brilliant opening in the House, 
and that who had acquired such celebrity at the 
Bar ; I would have shown the rising statesman 
tarnished, the future chief justice disqualified; 
I would have said, "Let no man, however 
modest his station or unfrequented his locality, 
imagine that the world takes no note of his 
conduct ; in every class he is judged by his 
peers, and you and I, Doubleton, will as as- 
suredly be arraigned before the bar of society as 
the pickpocket will be charged before the beak !" 

I continued to revolve these and such-like 
thoughts throughout the entire night. The 
wine I had drunk fevered and excited me, and 
added to that disturbed state which my own self- 
accusings provoked. Doubts, too, flitted across 
my mind whether I ought not to have main- 
tained a perfect silence towards the others, and 
reserved all my eloquence for the poor girl her- 
self. I imagined myself taking her hand between 
both mine, while, with averted head, she sobbed 
as if her heart would break, and, saying, " Be 
comforted, poor stricken deer! be comforted; 
I know all. One, who is far from perfect him- 
self, sorrows with and compassionates you ; he 
will be your friend, your adviser, your protector. 
I will restore you to that home you quitted in 
innocence. I will bring you back to that honey- 
suckled porch where your pure heart expanded 
in home affections." Nothing shall equal the 
refined delicacy of my manner ; that mingled re- 
serve and kindness a sort of cross between a 
half-brother and a canon of St. Paul's shall win 
her over to repentance, and then to peace. 
How I fancied myself at intervals of time visit- 
ing that cottage, going, as the gardener watches 
some cherished plant, to gaze on the growing 
strength I had nurtured, and enjoy the luxury 
of seeing the once drooping flower expanding 
into fresh loveliness and perfume. "Yes, 
Potts, this would form one of those episodes 
you have so often longed to realise." And then 
I went on to fancy a long heroic struggle between 
my love and that sentiment of respect for 
worldly opinion which is dear to every man, 
the years of conflict wearing me down in health 
but exalting me immensely in every moral con- 
sideration. Let the hour of crowning victory 
at last come, I should take her to my bosom, 
and say, " There is rest for thee here !" 

" His excellency begs that you will call at 
the legation as early as you can this morning," 
said a waiter, entering with the breakfast tray; 
and I now perceived that I had never gone to 
bed, or closed my eyes during the night. 

" How did this message come ?" I asked. 

" By the chasseur of his excellency." 

" And how addressed ?" 

" ' To the gentleman who dined yesterday at 
the legation.' " 

I asked these questions to ascertain how far 
he persisted in the impertinence of giving me a 
name that was not mine, and I was glad to find 
that on this occasion no transgression had oc- 

I hesitated considerably about going to him. 

CbarlM DMfeHM.} 


[ XoTOralxr *, 1810. ] 75 

Was I to accept that slippery morality that says, 
" I see no more than I please in the man I dine 
with," or was I to go coldly on and denounce 
this < himself? \Vhat if he were to 
say, " I'otts, let us play fair ! put your own 
cards on the table, and let us see are you always 
on the square? Who is your father? how 
does he live? Why have you left home, and 
how ? What of that horse you have " 

"No, no, not stolen on my honour, not. 
stolen !" 

" Well, ain't it ugly ? Isn't the story one that 
any relating might, without even a spice of 
malevolence, make marvellously disagreeable? 
Is the tale such as you'd wish to herald you into 
any society you desired to mix with ?" It was 
in this high, easy, and truly companionable style 
that conscience kept me company while T ate 
two eggs and a plate of buttered toast. " After 
all," thought I, "might it not prove a great 
mistake not to wait onnim ? How if, in our talk 
over politics last night, I may have dropped 
some remarkable expression, a keen appre- 
ciation of some statesman, an extraordinary 
prediction of some coming crisis ? Maybe it 
is to question me more fully about my ' views' 
of the state of Europe." Now, I am rather given 
to " views of the state of Europe." I like that 
game of patience, formed by shuffling up all 
the governments of the Continent, and then 
seeing who is to have the most "tricks," 
who's to win all the kings, and who the knaves. 
" Yes," thought I, " this is what he is at. These 
diplomatic people are consummately clever 
at pumping ; their great skill consists in extract- 
ing information from others and adapting it to 
their own uses. Their social position confers 
the great advantage of intercourse with whatever 
is remarkable for station, influence, and ability ; 
and I think I hear his excellency muttering to 
himself, ' Remarkable man, that large views 

old story, Sic vos non vobis ; and I suppose it is 
one of the curses on Irishmen that, from Edmund 
Burke to Potts, they should be doomed to cram 
others. I will go. What signifies it to me? I am 
none the poorer in dispensing my knowledge 
than is the nightingale in discoursing her sweet 
music to the night air, and flooding the groves 
with waves of melody : like her, I give of an 
affluence that never fails me." And 90 I set 
out for the legation. 

As I walked along through the garden, a 
trimly-dressed French maid passed me, turned, 
and rcpassed, with a look that had a certain 
significance. " It was monsieur dined here 
yesterday ?" said she, interrogatively ; and as I 
smiled assent, she handed me a very small-sealed 
note, and disappeared. 

It bore no address, but the word Mr. ; 

a strange, not very ceremonious direction. 
"But, poor girl," thought I, "she knou 
not as Potts, but as Protector. t I am not the in- 
dividual, but the representative of that wide- 
spread benevolence that succours the weak and 

consoles the afflicted. I wonder has she been 
touched by my devotion ? has she imagined 
oh, that she would ! that I have followed her 
hither, that I have sworn a vow to rescue and 
to save her ? or is this note the cry of a sorrow- 
struck spirit, saying, 'Come to my aid ere I 
perish' ?" 

My fingers trembled as I broke the seal ; 
I had to wipe a tear from my eye ere I could 
begin to read. My agitation was great, it was 
soon to be greater. The note contained very 
few words ; they were these : 

" Sta, I have not communicated to my 
brother, Sir Shalley Doubleton, any circum- 
stance of your unaccountable conduct yester- 
day evening. I hope that my reserve will be 
appreciated by you, and 

" I am, your faithful servant, 


I did not faint, but I sat down on the grass, 
sick and faint, and I felt the great drops of 
cold perspiration burst out over my forehead 
and temples. " So," muttered I, " the vene- 
rable person I have been lecturing is his excel- 
lency's own sister ! My exhortations to a 
changed life have been addressed to a lady 
doubtless as rigid in morals as austere in man- 
ners." Though I could recal none of the words 
I employed, I remembered but too well the 
lesson I intended to convey, and I shuddered 
with disgust at my own conduct. Many a time 
have I heard severest censure on the preacher 
who has from the pulpit scattered words of 
doubtful application to the sinners beneath ; but 
here was I making a direct and most odious 
attack upon the life and habits of a lady of im- 
maculate behaviour ! Oh, it was too too bad ! 
A whole year of sackcloth and ashes would not 
be penance for such iniquity. How could she 
have forgiven it ? what consummate charity en- 
abled her to pardon an offence so gross and so 
gratuitous ? Or is it that she foresaw conse- 
quences so grave, in the event of disclosure, 
that she dreaded to provoke them. What might 
not an angry brother, in such a case, be war- 
ranted in doing? Would the world call any 
vengeance exorbitant? I studied her last 
phrase over and over, " ' I hope my reserve will 
be appreciated by you.' This may mean, ' I re- 
serve the charge I hold it over you as a bail 
bond for the future ; diverge ever so little from 
the straight road, and I will say, " Potts, stand 
forward and listen to your indictment." ' She 
may have some terrible task in view for me, 
some perilous achievement which I cannot now 
refuse. This old woman may be to me as was 
the Old Man of the Sea to Sindbad. I may be 
fated to carry her for ever on my back, and the 
dread of her be a living nightmare to me. At 
such a price, existence has no value," said 
I, in despair. " Worse even than the bondage 
is the feeling that I am no longer, to my own 
heart, the great creature I love to think myself. 
Instead of rotts the generous, the high-spirited, 
the confiding, the self-denying, I am Potts the 
timorous, the terror-stricken, and the slave." 

76 [November 3, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Out of my long and painful musings on the 
subject, I bethought me of a course to take. I 
would go to her and say : 

" Listen to this parable : I remember once, 
when a. member of a phrenological club, a 
stupid jest was played off upon the society by 
some one presenting us with the cast of a well- 
known murderer's skull, and asking for our in- 
terpretations of its development. We gave them 
with every care and deliberation; we pointed 
out the fatal protuberances of crime, and indi- 
cated the depressions, which showed the absence 
of all prudential restraints ; we demonstrated all 
the evidences of badness that were there, and 
proved that, with such a head, a man must have 
thought killing no murder. The rejoinder to 
our politeness was a small box that arrived by 
the mail, labelled, ' The original of the cast for- 
warded on the 14th.' We opened it, and found 
a pumpkin ! The foolish jester fancied that he 
had cast an indelible stain upon phrenology, 
quite forgetting the fact that his pumpkin had 
personated a skull which, had it ever existed, 
would have presented the characteristics we 
gave it." I would say, " Now, madam, make the 
application, and say, do you not rather commend 
than condemn ? are you not more ready to ap- 
plaud than upbraid me ?" 

Second thoughts rather deterred me from 
this plan ; the figurative line is often dangerous 
with elderly people. It is just as likely she 
would mistake the whole force of my illustra- 
tion, and bluntly say, " I'd beg to remark, sir, I 
am not a pumpkin !" 

" No. I will not adventure on this path ; there 
is no need that I should ever meet her again, 
or, if I should, we may meet as utter strangers." 
This resolve made, I arose boldly, and walked 
on towards the house. 

His excellency, I learned, was at home, and 
had been for some time expecting me. I found 
him in his morning-room, in the same costume 
and same occupation as on the day before. 

"There's the Times," said he, as I entered; 
" I shall be ready for you presently ;" and worked 
away without lifting his head. 

Affecting to read, I set myself to regard him 
with attention, Vast piles of papers lay around 
him on every side ; the whole table, and even 
the floor at his feet, was littered with them. 
" Would," thought I " would that these writers 
for the Radical press, these scurrilous penny-a- 
liners who inveigh against a bloated and pam- 
pered aristocracy, could just witness the daily 
life of labour of one of these spoiled children 
of fortune. Here is this man, doubtless reared 
in ease and affluence, and see him how he toils 
away, from sundown to dawn, unravelling the 
schemes, tracing the wiles, and exposing the 
snares of these crafty foreigners. Hark ! he is 
muttering over the subtle sentence he has just 
written: 'I am much grieved about Maria's 
little girl, but I hope she will escape being 
marked by the malady.' " A groan that broke 
from me here startled him, and he looked 

" Ah ! yes, by the way, I want you, Paynter." 

"I am not Paynter, your excellency. My 
name is " 

"Of course, you have your own name, for 
your own peculiar set ; but don't interrupt. I 
have a special service for you, and will put 
it in the ' extraordinaries.' I have taken a 
little villa on the Lake of Como for my sister, 
but from the pressure of political events I 
am not able to accompany her there. She 
is a very timid traveller, and cannot possibly 
go alone. You'll take charge of her, therefore, 
Paynter there, don't be fussy you'll take 
charge of her, and a young lady who is with 
her, and you'll see them housed and established 
there. I suppose she will prefer to travel slowly, 
some thirty miles or so a day, post-horses always, 
and strictly avoiding railroads ; but you can 
talk it over together yourselves. There was a 
Bobus to have come out " 


"I mean a doctor I call every doctor, 
Bobus but something has detained him, or, 
indeed, I believe he was drowned ; at all events, 
he's not come, and you'll have to learn how to 
measure out ether, and drop morphine ; the 
" companion" will help you. And keep an ac- 
count of your expenses, Paynter your own ex- 
penses for F.O. and don't let her fall sick at 
any out-of-the-way place, which she has rather 
a knack of doing ; and, above all, don't telegraph 
on any account. Come and dine six." 

" If you will excuse me at dinner, I shall be 
obliged. I have a sort of half engagement." 

" Come in about nine, then," said he, " for 
she'd like to talk over some matters. Look out 
for a carriage, too ; I don't fancy giving mine 
if you can get another. One of those great 
roomy German things with a cabriolet front, if 
possible, for Miss I forget her name would 
prefer a place outside. Kramm, the landlord, can 
help you to search for one ; and let it be dusted, 
and aired, and fumigated, and the drag examined, 
and the axles greased in a word, have your 
brains about you, Paynter. Good-by." Exit 
as before. 


OUR inn is eligibly situated ; for it is barely ten 
doors down Conductor-street, and not so much 
as ten seconds' easy walking from Spanish Place. 
When the sun shines out brightly, from no 
district does it get its rays reflected back so 
cheerfully and with such abundant interest. 
The hum and hurly-burly of Saxon voices pass- 
ing by, mounts to our windows, for we are in 
the heart of the English pale. The welcome 
familiar tones of Smith greeting Smith on the 
highway, is borne in to us and maketh the heart 
glad. The jocund cracking of whips and rolling 
of wheels let us know that Smith and company 
wife, daughters, and general redundant off- 
spring, red book in hand are being borne by. 
Coming out from our scarlet chamber, upon the 
long balcony which is part of our domain a feat 
I indulge in pretty often I look up to the left, 
where is a bright snatch of Spanish Place, and 

Charlt. Dlekni.] 


[Sorembor 3, ISGOl] 77 

see the stone gentleman sitting noseless in 
his foot-hath, and spouting water briskly ; be- 
hind him the operatic flight of steps and the 
crust-coloured church. I look down to the 
right, and take in the shining sweep of street, 
the jewelling bazaars, and gaudy scarf shops, 
and cigar-ana-salt temples, and Cuccioni's mon- 
ster photographs hung out, and Achille Rey 
and 1m wares reduplicated over and over again, 
stretching off to "the Course" yonder. I look 
down below, leaning oa the balcony rail, where 
my knee brushes the style and titles of Our 
Inn embroidered in golden characters, and see 
crowns of hats, of familiar British make, flit- 
ting by below ; and am very speedily seen 
myself Iby the little impish begging woman, who 
is at me in an instant with ner " Signoiwno ! 
Signore^no mio !" I look steadily before me and 
do reverent homage to Roman Gunter, whose pa- 
lace beards me just opposite. Great is Diana of 
Ephesus ! Great is he who sits enthroned yonder 
at the Vatican ! but there is one yet greater thau 
he : I see "Spillman aine" looking at me in golden 
characters, and I say advisedly that Spillman 
aine" hath a broader influence than Pio. That 
inestimable cook (dinners at fixed prices, and 
evening parties supplied) is the true minister of 
the interior. My countrymen stand by him 
nobly. I am glad I derive a degree of moral 
support from being under the shadow of so great 
a man, and I shall speak of him by-and-by in a 
little detail. 

But our great scarlet chamber aud bauquet- 
ing-room, so heavy and gloomily aristocratic, 
you should see that, to appreciate our inn tho- 
roughly. There is a dingy rubicund magnifi- 
cence about it that almost depresses. The,, air 
seems charged with the fragrance of ghostly 
dinners, which it is consoling to know that princes 
and other persons of quality have dined of. 
Our chairs and furniture are ot the heavy Robin- 
son Crusoe model, and when you strain at an 
arm-chair, it sticks its limbs firmly into the 
carpet and will not move. Our sofas are fear- 
ful instruments of inconvenience, about as shal- 
low as a ship's berth, their backs developing 
into sharp uneasy shoulders, which, by degrees, 
project you gradually on to the floor. But then 
our gold carvings are miracles of luxuriance aud 
artful ramification; and our looking-glasses, not 
extensive but well-meaning, do their best; and 
our clocks which never go, and gigantic can- 
delabra, which arc never lighted, show what 
we are capable of, on a great effort, when called 
on to put out our strength. Even about our 
door dispensation, there is something solemn and 
awe-striking ; for it is not ordered with a single 
vulgar swinging leaf, butilies open magnificently 
witli two folds ; which, being contracted to about 
the dimensions of a cupboard convenience, you 
are, so to speak, necessitated to fling both open, 
and make a species of triumphant entry. 

Host Fritz, the Teuton who directs this 
establishment, is a pearl of great price; he 
furnishes inexhaustible entertainment, and 
should really charge himself in tlic bill. He is 
iinpayable, as the French put it ; being round 

and pluffy, and hooped and braced, like a com- 
pact German keg, and I fear is but too surely 
marked out for an apoplectic embrace one of 
these days. I wonder do the shrieks of laughter, 
which his figure waked, still cling, commingled 
with the ghostly dinners, to the walls of the 
scarlet chamber? Was he not in an eternal 
fume ; and as his guests thickened did he not 
play the overtasked brain, the overwrought 
tissues, on the verge of giving way ? It is 
the cabinet minister, the financier, bowed 
down with too much mind-work. At such 
crises, when pressed with indignant protests 
against certain table short-comings, he tosses 
his arms wildly in the air, and seems to wave 
away the subject frantically, as who should say: 
" Beware, beware, incautious strangers ! Harass 
not one already toppling on the precipice of in- 
sanity ! Have a care ! ye reck not the mischief 
ye may do." At times, he appeals to those 
better feelings, which somehow find a corner in 
the breasts of even aggrieved and outraged 
guests. " Have pity," he says, almost weeping ; 
" see you not how I am hunted from post to pil- 
lar ?" (expressed in corresponding Italic idiom). 
"Figaro qua, Figaro la! Ces autres, these 
Druses and Maronites, who have no bowels 
yes, no bowels 1 may press me and hunt me as 
a hare ; but you, you ! That supply of peach- 
tart ran out oefore it came down to your turn. 
Granted. Those delicate little birds that ma- 
dame relishes " (a smile for madame) " fell 
short. Granted. The wine is inferior say per- 
haps acid. Granted. Well, wait ; only wait, and 
you shdl see !" And he waves his hand over his 
head with a flourish, which intimates that in the 
illimitable perspective are great things. We 
look at each other abashed ; we feel that we 
have done a mean thing, an unhandsome thing. 
It was shabby thus harassing a great man with 
our petty gastronomic grievances. But the illi- 
mitable perspective never comes. At another 
season he is rampant, boisterous, drunken with 
success. The guests and guests of quality, too 
have been crowding in tumultuousfy, and the 
mercury has leaped from Stormy, and Much Rain, 
to Very Fair. He is triumphant and walks upon 
clouds. He is Inn-keeping Jove, and is gra- 
cious : a wave of his hand and all things 
shall be as you wish. Trouble yourselves not 
what matters money, time, or toil ? It shall be 
done. What, ho! within, there! I arrive in 
a gush of passengers, the rejected of many 
hostelries, and am led away to fourth-class 
steerage accommodation, somewhere indistinctly 
about the roof. Betimes in the morning I lodge 
indignant protest against this treatment, and 
find the glass very, very high indeed. He makes 
as though he would take me into his bosom : 
" Patience, only patience ! BUT" and he lays his 
finger on my button with pressure, and looks 
round over his shoulders, as though the air 
were alive with conspirators " but there is yet 
a lit-tle chamber^' (he breaks his sentence up 
into mysterious fragments) "not ready now 
but will be anon a gallant little apartment 
you understand ?" (extra pressure 011 the but- 

78 [November 3, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

ton) "unique, matchless, exquisite a gallant 
apartment, in fact, that will just suit monsieur." 
What the mysterious winks and shrugs that ac- 
companied this alluring prospect were meant to 
point at I cannot now determine, but I know 
they conveyed a sense flattering and self-appre- 
ciative. See how fine and exquisitely turned 
was the lurking compliment : a hint the mere 
breath of a hint that sweets were to the sweet, 
and that monsieur would be appropriate tenant 
to a "gallant apartment," dainty, airy, and 
tasteful. When, therefore, I find it out to be a 
poor thing, no more than bare walls, with the 
plain Robinson Crusoe furniture, the complacent 
unction has been laid so adroitly to the soul, 
that I rather chime in with the notion of its 
being a gallant chamber indeed. 

I find that he looks at things in an eminently 
hostelric view, and measures most things by 
that standard. He takes -no cognisance of tie old 
stones, Circuses, Forums, Capitols, Pillars, and 
such-like, in their capacity of old stones ; un- 
less, as I suspect, he has a hazy dream of the 
Coliseum being one day turned to practical uses, 
in the shape of a Grand Hotel of All Nations. 
I believe he has but a poor esteem of cardinals, 
and even of the Vicar of Christ, such not living 
ordinarily at hotels, or otherwise benefiting the 
trade. I am sure he cannot see any bearing of 
religion upon tables d'hote, and therefore thinks 
there can be nothing in it. Towards the latter 
days of Holy Week I hear a lady of the Roman 
Communion, meeting Host Fritz at the bottom 
of the stair, take him solemnly into council, and 
ask him touching the fasting ordinances. Of 
this special day was there to be abstinence from 
flesh meat ? Covers have been laid for an over- 
flux of guests, there is a grateful press of busi- 
ness, and dinner is fixed an hour later in conse- 
quence of the ceremonials. Host Fritz is there- 
fore exalted (in the French sense), and is brim- 
ming over with enthusiasm and benevolence. 
"To be sure!" he exclaims; "at seven precisely 
it will be served everything in profusion fish 
and meat, meat and fish! Madame can satisfy 
herself with both." Alas ! this was not ma- 
dame's idea : " Was there permission for flesh 
meats ?" " To be sure ! there will be abundance 
of everything : there will be meat and fish." "But 
is it not a fast day ?" " Well, madame will find 
plenty of fish and meat, thank God !" Host 
Fritz cannot by any means be brought to grasp 
the religious and canonical bearings of the ques- 

Towards six o'clock, when the tocsin clangs 
out furiously for the feast a familiar pulling 
for the bare life at a rope, as in a church steeple 
bedrooms yawn and give up their dead, and 
little folding -doors opening suddenly, the white 
men come bursting forth with their war-paint on. 
The air hurtles with rustling brushing silks as 
with the sound of wings. The current has 
set in fiercely towards the baked meats that fur- 
nish forth the tables. We flock tumultuously 
into the scarlet chamber below, and range our- 
selves in an orderly manner after the manner of 
our tribe on both sides of the table where the 

war-feast is to be, eyeing our ivory-handled 
tomahawks with a cannibal love. Bovineham, 
Bullington, and Company, represent British beef 
and dignity, and will presently be awfully low- 
ing out orders to scared waiterdom. They 
herd together by the true laws of their caste, 
and are terrible by combination. They talk 
together noisily, and their voices do not keep 
tune, though their knives keep time ; their 
ladies sit near them, and perform prodigies with 
those instruments of table-cutlery. There is 
one tremendous Polypheme, who has to play 
Sisyphus each time he mounts the stairs, push- 
ing a huge abdominal burden before him, and in 
whose cheeks mantle all the richer gravy juices ; 
him certain free and familiar friends have held 
again at the font, and rechristened by the name 
of Ursa Major. There is no reason why his 
full style and titles should not be Daniel Lam- 
bert Shorthorn ; but for all the practical pur- 
poses of life, that other familiarity answers 
with a delicious expressiveness. Such nomen- 
clature is presently enlarged to other objects, 
as having a photographic power and brilliancy. 
There is the swarthy, black-haired, sparkling- 
eyed Spanish gentleman, who sits opposite me, 
and rolls those engines of his in a very awful 
manner. For aught we know, he may be Don 
Gusman Alvarez di Toledo, Grandee and Knight, 
with a hat and feather and flowing cloak ready 
up-stairs in his mails ; or, he may be a mere 
wine-traveller for an eminent house at Xeres ; 
but it is more convenient surely to know him 
simply as the Hidalgo. 

At pur mess, promotion very properly goes by 
seniority, not by favour or purchase. The next 
in dinner rank gets the step always. Oldest in- 
habitant sits at the top, and it is a pleasing en- 
couragement to think that, by a steady patience, 
and strict and unflagging attendance, you too 
may at length reach to that honourable eleva- 
tion. There is a certain excitement in this 
closing up daily, to fill the gaps in the ranks, 
and this sure progress towards winning your 
Grade. Oldest inhabitants a bride and her hus- 
band linger on with a strange adhesiveness 
until the regiment has dwindled to a skeleton. 
These, one morning, are discovered to have 
passed away gently, and are seen no more. Nor 
must I pass by the sallow spade-faced gentle- 
man, with the goatish tuft, who is Mr. Stang, 
of Noo Yerk, and the " States" generally ; nor 
the bloodless, cream-laid lady whose voice jars on 
you acutely, and cuts you like a knife, and who is 
nasally Miness Stang, also of the Transatlantic 
city ; nor the urchin, cur, whelp rebelliously 
unlicked who kicks at the wretched Italian 
serving-men, and boldly " annexes" chickens 
entire ; who bears away the fruits of the earth 
to upper chambers privily, and who is known as 
Marster Stang, of that ilk. Neque te silebo 
nor must we pass thee by unsung, sweet rose of 
Sandy Hook, lovely Fanny Stang, between 
whose sad sapless cheeks, and startling waist, 
which would slip easily through a good-sized cur- 
tain-ring, there is but too intimate a connexion. 
There are many more elements of our company. 

Cliiir!. . l'..'ki-ni i 



Trips in each day, the bright lady of the violet 
robe, whose rich black hair shines and eddies 
like a mountain brook; glide in, too, with an 
unfailing regularity, tin- cloud of black-robed 
sisters, with the single brother to divide among 
them, most moping aud melancholy party. I 
relish a little at first, the amiable clergyman 
(Vicar of Crumpley-in-the-Drains), who has 
come put with a stern fixed purpose of doing 
the thing thoroughly, who has prepared himself 
by elaborate grounding (perhaps grinding) in 
the works of the fathers and of the late Ed- 
mund Gibbon, Esquire, in Montfaucou, Casau- 
bon, Muratori, ana the amusing speculations of 
Doctor Adam, author of the well-known Roman 
Antiquities. Conscientiously he does his work, 
making parochial visits to each object, as he 
does to the householders at home in Crumpley- 
in-the-Drains. At first I envy him his noble 
ardour; 1 feel a burning admiration for the man 
who can restore the Forum exactly as that noble 
miscellany stood in its first days. But when he 
plucks forth his rubicund text-book between 
the courses, and sends me across the table a 
dry cut of Murray along with a slice of deli- 
cate mountain mutton ; and into that sweet fruit 
sauce which suits the wild flavour of the boar, 
infuses gritty figures as to the height of the 
Column of Trajan, with sly allusions to the 
Empress Faustina and Cecilia Metella, I begin 
to rise in outspeaking protest against the man 
and his works and pomps a feeling ere long 
nursed into bitter loathing and hostility. He 
becomes for me a positive Old Man of the Sea 
in the matter of antiquities. He bursts upon 
me, from ambuscades of classical-details, nice 
speculation as to the site of the temple was it of 
the winds ? He balances for me, Nibbi and Vasi, 
competent authorities on stones, but leans rather 
to the Vicar of Crumpley-in-the-Draius. Junior 
old men of the sea, but still diverting, are the 
two long gaunt youths with stolid faces and 
windmill arms, sent to foreign parts to furnish 
their brains with such ideal upholstery as they 
can find, and come back, not monkeys, but 
Ourangs proper, who have seen the world. They 
return every day, bursting with what they have 
MVII and heard, and discharge their impressions 
across the table, with uncouth signs and loud 
hee-haws, much as Caspar Hauser or other wild 
man would liav; done. At times, conversation 
into hurly-burly and scraps of incongruous 
polyglot fly thick : 

5, sir ! Mr. Stang, sir ! yew have 
seen the Capitol, sir ?" 

" Yes, sir ; I were there toe-day !" 

" 1 ay-ludr, sir, to the Capitol at Washin'ton 

and " 

Undercurrent of vicar of Crumpley-in-the- 
Drains : " Bones, removed by order of the 
Empress Helena, and placed in a marble sar- 
cophagus adorned with sculptures, attributed 

" Oh, the Poe-ope !" (from the gaunt youths) 
" oh, yes, /saw the Poe-ope, and then we went 
down into the Ca-ta-co-o-o-mbs oh, yes !" 

Bullington (breaking in angrily) : " Tlie 

arrangements, sir, were beastly yes, sir, 
beastly. Where were the police P This rotten, 
degraded " 

Vicar of C.-in-the-D. (very softly): "The 
whole of the right arm and a great portion of 
the left leg have been restored. This exquisite 
fragment was found, many " 

Elderly Frenchman, who has resided much in 
England : " Vis pleshar ! I vill be dere yester- 

" Sir ! the whole thing mutt blow up, for " 

"As Winckleman says, the ancients never 
made " 

" Vile soup " 

Aud then pushes in an overpowering Babel, 
wherein Cecilia Metella, Empress Faustina, Anto- 
ninus Pius, Cato the Censor, and Our Minister, 
jostle each other in unseemly confusion. 

From a little gallery on the stair we may 
look down into the hall ; and it is amusing of an 
evening, when the lamps are lighted, to lean OH 
the rail and look down into the nail, and see the 
dramatic business that goes forward. Now, it 
is waiterdom clustered very thick, and discussing 
a point in their own social economy with much 
noise and vigorous action. Now, it is a great 
four-horse vetturino just come up from Naples, 
and being unloaded. Most picturesque vehicle, 
it was signalled long before it came in sight. 
Its jingling bells were heard afar off down 
the street; the loud sounding whip, and the 
" High ! high !" of driver, and the screams of 
delighted urchins scampering on in front, all 
gave cheerful notice. I look down from the 
gallery and see the little piece played. Enter 
the dusty travellers, and defile past father, 
wife, sisters, children, it may be ; babies, per- 
haps ; nurse, very likely ; round whom dance 
expectant gnats and midges in the shape of 
fluttering waiterdom. Emerges presently, host 
Fritz, in character of Inn-keeping Jove, and 
anxious interview follows, as to rooms, accom- 
modation, and so forth ; waiteriug interest 
crowding round with one ear bent inwards with 
an eager attention. It is settled ; cloud breaks, 
floats up stairs : and then blue-robed porters 
file by, oending under heavy trunks. Finally, 
enters picturesque postboy, in pale sky-blue 
jacket, and silver medallion embroidered on his 
right arm, and fanciful hat: and picturesque 
postboy has, presently, his hand out and is de- 
claiming furiously, and stamping with his jack- 
boots, and pointing to the quarter where the city 
of Naples may be supposed to lie, and looks 
contemptuously at the moneys tendered to him, 
asking, I suppose, in his own idiom, " Wot's 
this for P And yo* calls yourself a geu'lman!" &c. 
Courier, who is on the other side, is frightfully 
vehement, stamps too, clenches his hands, mak- 
ing as though he would spit in postboy's face ; 
points also to the quarter of the horizon where 
Naples may be supposed to lie, and turns red 
with rage. I feel sure that stilettoes will be 
drawn presently, and that the marble floor of 
host Fritz will trickle with blood. Astonishing 
that host Fritz, who is smoking his cigar tran- 
quilly, and the waiting interest standing round 

80 [Novembers, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

in a ring, do not interfere. In another second 
the courier's hand is raised quick as thought, 

and something glitters in it ! Ah ! 

It is only an extra piece of money, and the 
two opponents are embracing they are smiling 
and laughing. The little drama is all in the 
interest of courier, whose master is looking on, 
and who thinks what a treasure of a fellow he 
has secured. The storm is lulled, and picturesque 
postboy goes on his way rejoicing. 


IN the Germania of Tacitus, mention is made 
of a northern nation, called the .^Esthyi, and 
in very early times the Southern and West- 
ern Germans, who were great travellers, gave 
the name ^Estier or Eistier to the inhabitants of 
the eastern coast of the Baltic. It may be re- 
marked that, in the history of Northern Europe, 
the Baltic plays a similar part to that of the 
Mediterranean in the South. 

Not, however, till a comparatively recent date 
was it discovered that the name which had been 
loosely applied to several races, would be cor- 
rectly limited to the inhabitants of that 
northern part of the eastern coast which now 
forms Revel and a portion of Livonia. The 
region, which is bounded on the north by the 
Gulf of Finland, on the west by the Baltic, 
and on the east by the river Nerowa and Lake 
Peipus, has been the residence, from time im- 
memorial, of a people of Finnish extraction, 
who are proud of their position as aborigines of 
their country, and thoroughly aware of the dis- 
tinction between themselves and their neigh- 
bours. The Esthonian calls his country " Meie 
Ma" (our land), and himself " Maa Mees" 
(man of the soil), to avert the possibility of con- 
fusion on the subject. 

Like most northern nations, the early Estho- 
nians had a great respect for war, and were dex- 
terous in the use of clubs, lances, slings, and 
short knives, as weapons of offence. Those who 
died in battle were honoured with a funereal 
pyre, and their ashes were deposited in orna- 
mental urns. As for the profession of piracy, 
it was deemed rather estimable than otherwise. 

Nevertheless, the Esthonians, though they 
shared the fighting propensities of their neigh- 
bours, were not an especially warlike people. 
While the legends of other Finnish races cele- 
brate savage combats and ruthless victories, 
those of the Esthonians point to a peaceful, se- 
cluded state of existence as the perfection of 
felicity. The seat of all their legends is the 
eastern part of their country, near Lake Peipus 
and the river Embach, or as the natives call it, 
"Emmajoggi." This is the laud of antiquity 
and wonder. 

The origin of the river is itself the subject of 
a curious myth. Soon after the earth (which, 
as in other systems, is a flat disc) was created, 
and the broad heaven with its radiant sun and 
glittering stars arched over its surface, the 
animals began to disobey the commands of Old 
Father, the Supreme Being, and persecuted and 

molested each other. Old Father summoned 
them all to his presence, and told them that he 
had originally formed them for peace, happiness, 
and freedom, but that he now found they re- 
quired the government of a king, who would 
curb their evil propensities. The new monarch 
would arrive on the bank of a brook, which must 
be dug expressly for his reception, and sufficiently 
deep and broad to become the "Emmajoggi" (or 
Mother Brook) of smaller streams. The earth 
dug up in the formation of the brook was to 
stand as a tall mountain, which Old Father 
promised to crown witli a wood, as the residence 
of the future king. 

Obedient on this occasion to the commands of 
Old Father, most of the animals set about the 
performance of their task. The cock, by crow- 
ing, indicated the course which the stream was 
to take, and the fox, who followed him, marked 
it with his tail. The first furrow was drawn by 
the mole, the badger worked underground, the 
wolf scraped up the earth with his feet and 
snout, the bear carried it away, and even the 
birds contributed their assistance. 

When Old Father inspected the diggings, 
he expressed himself highly satisfied with the 
labourers. By way of conferring an appropriate 
reward on eaca species of merit, lie decreed that 
in commemoration of their dirty work, the bear 
and the mole should look dirty for the rest of 
their lives, and that the wolf should always 
have a black snout and feet in honour of his 
raking. Two of the animals fell into disgrace. 
One was the crab, whom Old Father missed 
from the industrious throng, much to his auger, 
as he thought that a creature so liberally pro- 
vided with claws had no right to be lazy. The 
crab, on the other hand, having just crawled 
out of the mud, was much nettled at being 
overlooked, and profanely asked Old Father if 
he carried his eyes behind him. The punish- 
ment of this impertinence was the immediate 
transfer of the crab's own eyes to the uncom- 
fortable position to which he had lightly re- 
ferred. The other offender was a grey-plumed 
bird, called by the Germans the " Stutzer " 
( fop). This delinquent, instead of taking part 
in the work, hopped from bough to bough, 
sunning his fine feathers, and rejoicing in the 
music of his own song. To the reproof which 
he received from Old Father on account of his 
rebellious idleness, he pertly answered that he 
thought it would be highly discreditable to soil 
his beautiful plumage with such dirty work as 
digging. His punishment was manifold. His 
legs, which had previously been white, and 
which he had been unwilling to soil, became 
black ; he was forbidden to quench his thirst 
with the water of the stream, and obliged to 
remain content with the drops that hung upon 
the leaves ; he was prohibited from singing, 
save on the approach of a storm, when other 
creatures got out of the way. 

The ends of justice thus answered, Old Fa- 
ther filled the new-dug bed with water, which 
he poured from a golden urn aud animated with 
his breath. 



[Xovembw 3,19(0.] 81 

A sort of Northern Apollo, who is named Wan- 
nemunna, and is, doubtless, the Wainairoinen 
of the Finns, is an important personage in Es- 
thoniiiu mythology. According to another le- 
gend of the Emmajoggi, the whole human race 
and all the animals were summoned to the 
mountain formed of the earth thrown up in 
the great digging, that they might be instructed 
by Wannemunna in the art of song. When 
they were all assembled, a rustling sound was 
heard in the air, and Wannemunna alighted on 
the hill-top, where he smoothed his ringlets, 
shook his garments, stroked his beard, cleared 
his voice, arid executed on a stringed instrument 
a prelude, which was immediately followed by a 
song that delighted all hearers, and most of all 
the vocalist himself (a state of things by no 
means peculiar to Esthonia). The Emmaib'ggi 
stopped her course, the wind forgot to blow, 
t lie IK MS( s and birds listened attentively : in fact, 
all the incidents that usually follow the perform- 
ance of an Orpheus took place on this occasion. 
But most of the auditors were unable to take in 
the whole of what they heard. The trees only 
retained the rustling in the air which accom- 
panied the musician's descent, and they imitate 
it with their leaves to this day. The Emma- 
joggi caught the rustling sound of his garment, 
and still repeats it in the rushing of her waters. 
The harshest notes of the music were retained 
by the winds. The singing-birds, especially the 
lark and the nightingale, mastered the prelude. 
In short, every creature caught something, save 
the fish, who carried their eyes, but not their 
ears, above the surface of the water, and thus 
merely saw the movement of the musician's lips, 
without hearing the sound of his voice. Hence, 
to the present day, they are dumb, though they 
move their mouths. Man alone could under- 
stand the whole of Wannemunna's song, as he 
sang of the vastness of the heavens, of the 
glory of the earth, of the pleasant banks of the 
Emmajoggi, and of the destinies of the human 
race. And so much was Waunemunna pene- 
trated by the beauty of his own performance, that 
the tears he shed wetted six coats and seven 
shirts completely through. Thus, thoroughly 
watered, he ascended to the dwelling of Old 
Father, that he might regale him with his music 
and his song. Privileged ears may sometimes 
hear him even now, as he sings on high, and 
from time to time he sends his messages to earth, 
that man may not altogether lose the gift of 
song. And at some distant day he will come 
again to earth, and bestow happiness on Es- 

What a lovely story would this be were it 
not for the unlucky shirts and coats ! But those 
who are accustomed to the legends of primitive 
races will not be startled by leaps from the sub- 
lime to the ridiculous. 

Esthonia is not entirely destitute of heroic 
legends. The giant Kallewe Poeg is, to all 
intents and purposes, an Esthonian Hercules, 
immortalised by his feats of strength. As his 
name signifies, he was the son of Kallewe, an 
ancient deity, who was a mighty ruler in his 

time, and who, when he was on his death-bed, 
told his wife that after his decease she would 
bring forth a son more strongly resembling his 
father than two others already in the world. 
He would not divide his dominions, but said, 
that when his youngest son had grown up, the 
right of succeeding to the paternal rule should 
be settled by lot. His disconsolate widow dug 
for him a grave with her own hands, and raised 
over it a heap of stones, on the coast near Revel. 

The trial of skill that was to settle the ques- 
tion of succession to the dominions of Kallewe 
occurred on the borders of a lake near Dorpat. 
The three brothers took as many large stones of 
equal weight, and threw them in the order of 
their ages. The two elder were, of course, de- 
feated ny the youngest, and quietly departed, 
leaving him on his father's throne. A large block 
of granite, split by lightning, and about half as 
high again as an average man, is still shown in 
the vicinity of the lake as the stone flung by 
Kallewe Poeg. 

When his land was threatened with an in- 
vasion, Kallewe Poeg walked through the great 
lake Peipus to fetch planks from the opposite 
side, and returned with twelve dozen, though 
lie had been put to a considerable inconvenience 
by a rough-headed sorcerer, who had blown 
upon the waters till they were mountains high, 
and nearly reached his waist. As soon as ne 
had recrossed, he fell asleep on a hill that is 
still known as the " Kallewe Poeg Sang" (bed 
of Kallewe Poeg); and while he was in this 
helpless condition, snoring so mightily that the 
neighbouring mountains groaned, his sword was 
stolen by his enemy, the sorcerer, who could 
only lift it by means of enchantment, and soon 
let it drop into a stream from which he could 
not recover it. This sword had been manufac- 
tured in Finland by the giant's uncle, who lur- 
nished a remarkable instance of the value of 
the number seven ; for he occupied seven years 
in making the weapon out of seven sorts of iron, 
uttered seven magic spells during the process, 
and tempered it in seven waters. After a long 
search, it was found by Kallewe Poeg, who, 
however, left it in the stream, that it might be 
wielded by some future deliverer of his country, 
to whom it would reveal itself of its own accord. 
This extra task accomplished, Kallewe Poeg put 
his load of planks upon his shoulders, and when 
he had proceeded some distance, was assailed by 
three magicians, who pulled up several trees by 
the roots, and used them as clubs. The hero 
soon put them to flight, being greatly cheered 
by a voice which he heard in the forest. This 
belonged to the hedgehog, on whom Old Father 
had not bestowed a skin, but to whom, out of 
gratitude, KallewePoeg gave apiece of his rough 
cloak. When shortly afterwards he collected 
some sand in this cloak to make a couch, some 
of it fell through the hole produced by Ids gift 
to the hedgehog, and was sufficient to form a 
small mountain. After sundry other adventures 
he built for his residence a city on the sea-coast, 
and governed the country round. This was the 
origin of Revel. 



[Conducted by 

While the stories about Kallewe Poeg are 
nearly as wild as the legends of the Tartars, 
to which in character they are somewhat 
similar, they are told with a great display 
of geographical accuracy. A high rocky coast 
in the neighbourhood of Revel was actually 
shown to Dr. Kruse (an antiquary to whose re- 
searches in Esthonian tradition we are much 
indebted) as the sepulchre raised by the widow 
of Kallewe Poeg's father over her departed 
husband, and a lake in the vicinity is attributed 
to her tears. Near Assama, a town situated to 
the north-west of the Peipus, Dr. Fahlmann, 
another archaeologist, was shown a marsh and 
four pits, the origin of which is thus explained : 
Kallewe Poeg, mounted on horseback, was giving 
chase to his foes, when his horse, in springing 
from one mountain-top to another, took too 
short a leap, and fell between them. The body 
of the animal, dashed to pieces, formed the 
marsh, and the four pits are the prints of his 
feet. An awful curse was uttered by Kallewe 
Poeg on the occasion of the accident. " Remain 
a marsh," he said to the fatal place, " a marsh 
till the end of the world, an abode for nothing 
but frogs. May man avoid thee and avert his 
face from thy hideous form." The exact spot 
on the bank of the river Aa is shown, where 
Kallewe Poe had a remarkable encounter with 
three " iron-clad men." The first of these he 
whirled round his head, making a noise like the 
wings of a flying eagle, and then stamped him 
into the ground, so that he was buried up to his 
waist. The second was similarly whirled, with a 
sound like that of the wind among pine-trees, 
and buried up to the chin. As to the third, 
whose whirling could only be compared to a 
flash of lightning, he was stamped so deeply 
into the earth that only the point of his helmet 
was visible. 

The angling of Kallewe Poeg in this same 
river Aa was on a most magnificent scale. An 
ambassador who came to demand his submission 
to a neighbouring power, was asked by him to 
fetch his staff, which was standing at the river- 
side, furnished with a bait for crabs. The staff 
proved to be the trunk of a tree, which the 
ambassador could not move, but which Kallewe 
Poeg pulled up with ease, showing a whole 
horse as the suspended bait. The ambassador was 
then sent home, with orders to report that the 
conquest of Kallewe Poeg would be no easy task. 

The time when Kallewe Poeg flourished is re- 
garded by theEsthonian peasant as a sortof golden 
age. Dr. Kruse saw in a large stone, which 
lay near the Kallewe Poeg Sang, the marks of 
a colossal finger and thumb, and was told by a 
peasant who resided on the spot that these 
marks were left by Kallewe Poeg, a good worker 
of the land, under whose dominion corn was 
abundant, and flocks greatly multiplied. Indeed, 
the stone itself was a monument of his beneficent 
agency, for it had been flung by him at a wolf 
that was carrying off a lamb. Another relic is 
the Kallewe Poeg tool (chair), a huge stone, 
with an appearance of a back and two arms, upon 
which the giant is said to have rested. 

So great a hero could not fall by any sword 
but his own. When he left his weapon in the 
stream, after it had been stolen by the enchanter, 
he uttered an imprecation to the effect, that if 
ever he who had wop it should cross that 
stream, he wished it might cut off his legs. By 
" him who had worn it," he meant the enchanter ; 
forgetting for the moment that he had carried 
the sword himself. As General Damas says: 
" Curses are like young chickens ; and aye come 
home to roost ;" so when Kallewe Poeg amused 
himself one day by walking through the stream, 
his feet were so dreadfully cut by the sword that 
he with difficulty got out of the water, and flung 
himself in agony upon the ground, his groans fill- 
ing the whole intermediate space between the 
earth and the abode of the gods. He died of his 
wounds, and his soul ascended to heaven, but 
Old Father was afraid lest such an active hero 
might become mischievous if he was not fur- 
nished with some employment adequate to his 
great powers. He was, therefore, despatched 
to the infernal regions, to keep order among the 
devils, who had been more than commonly con- 

We conclude our series with a charming fable 
which we have purposely reserved to the last, 
and we tell it literally as it was heard by Dr. 
Fahlmann, when an old Esthonian narrated it for 
the amusement of his grandchildren : 

" Knowest thou the light in Old Father's 
halls ? It has just sunk to rest, and where it 
went out its reflexion still shines in the sky, and 
already is there a bright streak which extends 
towards the east, whence in its full magnificence 
it will again greet the entire creation. Dost 
thou know the hand which receives the sun and 
brings her to rest when she has finished her 
course? Knowest thou the hand which re- 
kindles her when she is extinguished, and makes 
her once more begin her heavenly journey ? 

" Old Father had two faithful servants of the 
race that is blessed with eternal youth, and 
when on the first evening light had finished its 
course, he said to Aemmerik : ' On account of 
thy faithfulness, daughter, I entrust to thee the 
sinking sun. Extinguish her, and conceal the 
fire, that it may cause no harm.' And when 
on the following morning the sun was to renew 
her course, he said to Koit : ' Thy office, my 
son, shall be to rekindle the light, and prepare 
it for its new journey.' Both performed this 
duty faithfully, and there was not a day on 
which the vault of heaven was without its light. 
When in winter the sun reaches the horizon, 
she is extinguished at an earlier hour, and in 
the morning she later resumes her course ; but 
when in spring she awakes the flowers and the 
birds, and when in summer she ripens the fruit 
with her sultry beams, she is only allowed a 
short time of repose, and as soon as her light 
is extinguished Aemmerik places her imme- 
diately in the hands of Koit, who at once re- 
kindles her for new life. 

" That beautiful time had arrived when flowers 
put forth their colours and their fragrance, and 
birds and men fill the air with songs, and Aeni- 



[November!, 1MO.] 83 

merik and Koit looked deeply into each 
other's brown eves, and when the fading sun 
passed from her hand into his, their hands were 
pressed together and their lips met. But one 
eye that never slumbers had observed what took 
place in the still midnight, and Old Father said, 
' I am well pleased with your performance of 
your duty, and desire that you should both be 
happy ; so take one another, and hold your office 
as man and wife.' 

"But both replied from one mouth : ' Father, 
mar not our ioy. Let us always remain lovers, 
for we have found our happiness in wooing, and 
our love is now fresh and young.' 

" And Old Father granted their prayer, and 
blessed their resolve. Only during four weeks 
in the year do they both meet at midnight, and 
then Aemmerik brings the extinguished sun 
to the hand of her lover, the pressure of the 
hand and the kiss follow, and Aemmerik's cheek 
glows, and its rosy red is reflected in the sky, 
until Koit has rekindled the light, and the 
golden radiance in the aky announces the ap- 
proaching sunrise. And Old Father still ho- 
nours the meeting by adorning the fields with 
the fairest flowers, and the nightingales in jest 
cry to Aemmerik, as she reposes on the bosom 
of Koit, ' Laisk tiiduk, laisk tuduk ! opik !' 
(Tardy maiden, tardy maiden, night has lasted 
too long !)" 

POOR Margaret's window is alight ; 

Poor Margaret sits alone ; 
Though long into the silent night, 

And far the world is gone. 
She lives in shadow till her blood 

Grows blackened, soul and all ; 
Upon her head a mourning hood, 

Upon her heart a pall. 

The stars come nightly out of heaven 

Old darkness to beguile ; 
For her there is no healing given 

To their sweet spirit-smile. 
That honey dew of sleep the skies 

In blessed balm let fall, 
Comes not to her poor tired eyes, 

Though it be sent for all. 

At some dead flower, with fragrance faint, 

Her life opes like a book ; 
Some old sweet music makes its plaint, 

And, from the grave's dim nook, 
The buried bud of hopes laid low, 

Flowers in the night lull-blown ; 
And little things of long ago 

Come back to her full-grown. 

IK r heart is wandering in a whirl, 

And she must seek the tomb 
Where lies her long-lost little girl. 

Oh well with them for whom 
Love's morning star comes round so fair 

As evening star of faith, 
Already up and shining, ere 

The dark of coming death. 

Bnt Margaret cannot reach a hand 

Beyond the dark of death ; 
Her spirit swoons in that high land 

Where breathes no human breath : 

She cannot look upon the grave 

As one eternal shore, 
From which a soul may take the wave 

For heaven, to sail or soar. 

Across that deep no sail unfurled 

For her, no wings put forth ; 
She tries to reach the other world 

By groping through the earth. 
Twas there the child went underground, 

They parted in that place ; 
And ever since the mother found 

The door shut in her face. 

Though many effacing springs have wrapped 

With green the dark grave-bed, 
'Twas there the breaking heartstrings snapped, 

As she let down her dead ; 
And there she gropes with wild heart yet, 

For years, and years, and years ; 
Poor Margaret ! and there she'll let 

Her sorrows loose in tears. 

All the young mother In her old voic- 

Its waking moan will make ; 
A young aurora light her eyes 

With radiance gone to wreck ! 
And then at dawn she will return 

To her old self again, 
Eyes dim and dry, heart grey and dern. 

And querulous in her pain. 

" We never loved each other much, 

I and my poor good-man ; 
But on the child we lavish'd such 

A love as overran 
All boundaries, loving her the more 

Because our love was pent ; 
Striving as two seas try to pour 

Their strength through one small rent. 

" For children come to still link hands, 

When souls have fallen apart ; 
And hide the rift when either stands 

At distance heart from heart. 
So on our little one we'd look, 

Press hands with fonder grasp, 
As though we closed some holy book 

Softly with golden clasp. 

" And as the dark earth offers up 

Her little winterling 
The crocus, pleading with its cap 

Of hoarded gold, to bring 
Down all the grey heaven's golden shower 

Of spring to warm the sod ; 
So did we lift the winsome flower 

That sprang from our dark clod. 

" Our little Golden-heart, her name, 

And all things sweet and calm, 
And pure and fragrant, round her came 

With gifts of bloom and balm. 
And there she grew, my queen of all, 

Golden, and saintly white, 
Just as at summer's smiling call 

The lily stands alight 

" To knee or nipple grew the goal 

Of her wee stately walk ; 
The voice of my own silent soul 

Was her dear baby-talk. 
Then darklingly she pined and failed. 

And looking on our dead, 
The father wailed awhile and ailed, 

Turned to the wall and said : 

" ' 'Tis dark and still our house of life, 
The fire is burning low, 

84- [November 3, I860.] 


[Conducted ty 

Our pretty one is gone, and, wife, 

'Tis time for me to go : 
Our Golden-heart has gone to sleep, 

She's happed in for the night ; 
And so to bed I'll quietly creep, 

And sleep till morning light.' " 

Once more poor Margaret arose, 

And passed into the night: 
Long shadows weird of tree and house 

Made ghosts i" the wan moonlight! 
She passed into the churchyard, where 

The many glad life-waves 
That leap'd of old, have stood still there, 

In green and grassy graves. 

" Oh, would my body were at rest 

Under this cool grave sward ! 
Oh, would my soul were with the blest, 

That slumber in the Lord ! 
They sleep so sweetly underground, 

For death hath shut the door, 
And all the world of sorrow and sound 

Can trouble them no more." 
A spirit feel is in the place, 

That makes the poor heart gasp ; 
Her soul stands white up in her face 

For one warm human clasp ! 
To-night she sees the grave astir, 

And, as in prayer she kneels, 
The mystery opens unto her : 

She for the first time feels 

The spirit world may be as near 

Her,, moving silent round, 
As are the dead that sleep a mere 

Short fathom underground. 
And there be eyes that see the sight 

Of lorn ones wandering, vexed 
Through some long, sad, and shadowy night 

Betwixt this world and next. 

Doorways of fear are eye and ear, 

Through which the wonders go ; 
And through the night with glow-worm light, 

The church is all aglow ! 
There comes a waft of Sabbath hymn ; 

She enters: all the air 
With faces fills, divine and dim, 

The blessed dead are there. 

One came and bade poor Margaret sit, 

Seemed to her as it smiled, 
A great white bird of God alit 

From the marble forest wild. 
" Look to the altar !" there a spell 

Fixed her ; she saw up start 
A woman, like a soul in hell : 

Twas her own Golden-heart. 

" It would have been thus, mother dear, 

And so God took her, from 
All trials and temptations here, 

To His eternal home ; 
And you shall see her in a place 

Where death can never part." 
She looked up in that angel's face: 

'Twas her own Golden-heart. 
The lofty music rose again 

From all those happy souls, 
Till all the windows thrilled, as when 

The organ thunder rolls ; 
And all her life is like a light 

Weak weed the stream doth swav 
Until it reaches its full height, 

Breaks, and is borne away. 

Her life stood still to listen to 

That music ! then a hand 
Took hers, and she was floated through 

The mystic border-land. 
'Twas Golden-heart ! from that eclipse 

She drew her into bliss: 
Two spirits closed at dying lips, 

In one immortal kiss. 

Next day, an early worshipped 

Was kneeling in the aisle; 
A statue of life that did not stir, 

But knelt on with a smile 
Upon the face that smiled with light, 

As though, when left behind, 
It smiled on with some glorious sight, 

Long after the eyes were blind. 


ANGELIQUE TIQUET is the heroine of an old 
and prolix chronicle, from which is compiled the 
following true romance. 

Her father, Jean Auguste Carlier, having some 
capital, entered into partnership with a rich old 
bookseller and jeweller of Metz, whose only 
child he subsequently married. The old man 
died soon after the marriage, bequeathing his 
whole property to his daughter and son-in-law, 
whose careful habits daily added to its bulk. 
Madame Carlier died eight years after marriage, 
leaving a daughter of seven (this Angelique), 
and a two-year old son, named Auguste. Car- 
lier did not marry again, but lived for his children. 
He was a man of some learning, and when the 
shop was closed in the evening, employed him- 
self in teaching his boy and girl, who both had 
quick abilities. Madame de Remonet, an aunt 
of the deceased Madame Carlier, had been One 
of the loveliest women of her time, and, although, 
belonging to the bourgeoisie, had captivated the 
fancy of a youth of rank, who, in spite of the op- 
position of his friends, made her his wife, and 
obtained a post at court, where niadame's beauty, 
wit, and talents for intrigue, forced her into 
favour. In those days, when Anne of Austria, 
in the pomp of her regency, was outraging de- 
corum, the standard of public opinion in France 
demanded no high principle of conduct. Ma- 
dame lived, therefore, a brilliant and heedless 
life until the sudden death of her husband left 
her with a pension far too small to supply the 
luxuries to which she was accustomed. Yet 
she made no visible change, except to become 
more reckless in her mode of life, till after a few 
more years, when the death or estrangement of 
some of her patrons, and a severe illness, which 
seemed all at once to anticipate the work of 
age, caused her to think of some certainty of 
a home for her declining years. Her relations 
in Metz had, of course, been neglected ; but as 
she knew her brother and niece to be dead, and 
her nephew to be wealthy, she determined to 
proceed to Metz, and make herself, if possible, 
a fixture there. At Metz she was so amiable to 
her nephew-in-law, so motherly vvitli the children, 
and seemed to be so happy in their company, 
that Carlier, whose comforts were the greater 
for her care of his household, offered her a home 



[Korembtr 3, 1860 ] 85 

with them. She accepted this offer with tears 
of gratitude, but as the quiet economy of the 
hold by no means suited her taste, she 
soon endeavoured to introduce a radical change 
in all matters of expenditure. In this attempt, 
however, she did not succeed ; for Carlier, 
though kind and gentle, was, in money matters, 
his own master. Yet he was blind to the real 
character of the woman whom lie gave to his 
children as guide and companion ; a woman sel- 
fish, rapacious, avaricious, utterly unprincipled, 
and heartless. Over the young mind of her niece 
she gained a complete ascendancy. Auguste was 
armed against her with simplicity of character, 
and him she hated, though she lavished upon him 
the tenderest endearments. After three years, 
finding her health restored, she resolved on a 
return to Paris. Imposing, therefore, upon Car- 
lier with a specious tale that it was necessary 
for her to go to the capital to save her pension, 
she quitted Metz, but kept her hold upon the 
mind of Ange'iique. She induced him to give 
his daughter the advantages of Paris training ; 
and she selected a convent of which the nuns 
were celebrated for proficiency in teaching. Thi- 
ther Angelique was sent, and she spent all her 
holidays with her aunt. Carlier went often to 
Paris after his daughter's removal thither, and 
v was grateful for the attention his auntpaidthegirl. 
On one of these occasions, he allowed the acute 
lady to discover that his will was made, and that 
he had left his property, worth more than a 
million of livres, equally divided between son 
and daughter, with madame for their sole 
guardian. He dined with his aunt that evening, 
and half an hour afterwards left in the diligence 
for Metz. In three days he was dead. 

He had never been a strong man, ihe time 
was mid-winter, the weather terribly severe. 
His death was ascribed to cold and fatigue, 
acting on an enfeebled constitution. 

Madame de Remonet would seem to have 
had a presentiment of the impending cata- 
strophe, for she had everything ready for a jour- 
ney when the news arrived, and she set off to 
Metz, with Ange'iique, without an hour's delay. 
On their arrival, they found Carlier buried, and 
the passionate grief of Madame de Remonet at- 
tracted universal sympathy. 

Angelique was now nearly sixteen, exquisitely 
beautiful, with hair marvellously long and abun- 
dant, so that, when let loose, it covered her, 
almost to her feet ; its colour was a dark 
browu with gleams of light on it, as if sprinkled 
with gold-dust. So lovely a beauty Madame 
de Kemonet was impatient to produce to the 
world. She hurried the sale of Carlier's 
effects as much as possible, selecting what 
she thought fit to retain, and, in five months 
after her nephew's death, returned to Paris with 
her two young wards. The best rooms of a 
haudsome hotel were at once furnished with all 
the cumbrous luxury of the period, a complete 
staff of domestics was engaged, and a career 
of dissipation began. Wooers thronged about 
the young heiress ; and among the rest came 
a young man named Henri St. Chaubert, 

whose father, the principal notary in Metz, 
had been Carlier's close friend. Henri was 
clever and energetic, and already distinguished 
in the law. His pretensions were soon set at 
rest by Madame de Remonet, who, acting upon 
Anirelique's vanity and ambition, persuaded her 
to dismiss (probably) the only lover she ever had, 
who cared for herself alone. Among the crowd 
were two, especially distinguished : the one by 
Madame de Remonet : the other by her niece. 
The first was Monsieur Tiquet, President of the 
Parliament of Paris, whose relations with madame 
had formerly been very intimate. He was old, 
ugly, and disagreeable. He had by extrava- 
gance impaired a large fortune, but his position 
upheld him. The aunt favoured Jiis pretensions, 
for the president had bound himself to pay her 
a large sum on the day when he should marry 
Ange'iique. The girl herself inclined to a young 
Chevalier de Mongeorge, who was an officer in 
the King's Guards : nandsome, witty, accom- 
plished, and really in love, according to the 
fashion of the age and country. Mongeorge's 
family required high birth in his bride, and en- 
deavoured to detach him from his mistress. 
They procured from the king his appointment 
to a colonelcy in a regiment ordered to a remote 
part of the kingdom, and, while he was gone, 
Monsieur Tiquet made good use of his absence. 
Madame de Remonet assisted efficiently. An- 
ge'iique was assailed on the one side by fetes 
and costly gifts ; and on the other side by 
fabulous accounts of the wealth and rank 
which should be hers on becoming Madame 
Tiquet, and of the envy she would excite 
in the hearts of all the girls in Paris. Par- 
ticular mention is made of one present which 
completely subdued the little power of resist- 
ance Angelique had left. It was a bouquet of 
flowers imitated from nature, the leaves being 
of gold and emeralds, the flowers of turquoises, 
rubies, sapphires, opals, and garnets, sprinkled 
with dewdrops of small diamonds. She could 
not withstand so gallant and princely an adorer, 
and in a few weeks became Madame Tiquet. 

Passionately adoring his young wife, the pre- 
sident was jealous of her lightest look. As 
Ange'iique had been prepared for her married 
life, by an intimation from her aunt that mar- 
riage by no means excluded lovers, she insisted 
on dressing like a princess, and on entertaining 
a throng of flatterers. Her husband wished for 
domesticity, and had become, as spendthrifts 
sometimes do become, miserly, now that he had 
again a fortune. Constant and violent contention 
was the consequence, and, to make matters worse, 
Mongeorge, whose friends had been made happy 
by Ange"lique's marriage, was recalled to Pans, 
and became her satellite. Monsieur Tiquet at 
last refused to supply his wife with money be- 
yond a very small allowance. She applied then 
to her aunt, who, by supplying her with funds, 
still further established empire over her, while 
she repeatedly urged on her how fortunate it 
would be were Auguste to die ; for Monsieur 
Carlier's will had decreed that if either of his 
heirs died without issue, the fortune of the de- 

56 [November 3,1860.] 


[Conducted by 

ceased should go to the survivor. If both died 
childless, all was to be applied to the use of va- 
rious charities, except a small sum left to Ma- 
dame Remonet. Antique ran into debt, her 
husband refused positively to advance or in- 
crease her allowance. Her aunt, professing to be 
unable to supply further demands, advised an 
application to Mongeorge, upon which Ange- 
lique was compelled to acknowledge that she 
was already his debtor for large sums, which 
he had heavily involved himself to procure 
for her. "If Auguste would only die!" was 
the next terrible suggestion. " He is puny and 
frail, does not enjoy life, and cannot live to ma- 
turity. Yet he keeps you, who so much need 
his money, from a vast deal of enjoyment !" 

No more was said on that occasion, but at 
subsequent interviews the subject was revived. 
Auguste was a boy of thirteen, delicate and 
quiet, often and seriously ailing, much neglected 
by his aunt and sister, but loved and sedulously 
cared for, by an old abbe, who was his tutor. 
His health grew worse and worse. Violent 
sickness, internal cramps, and racking pains, 
soon brought him to the brink of the grave. In 
about three months from the time of the first 
serious attack, he died. No one suspected foul 
play. The boy had been almost unknown to any 
one except the servants and his tutor. His 
fortune went to Angelique ; and she, some time 
afterwards, presented her aunt with two thousand 
livres and a magnificent Cashmere shawl. 

Monsieur Tiquet, somewhat mollified by his 
wife's increase of fortune, conceded to her 
many of her demands, and relaxed somewhat of 
his vigilance. Gradually, Angelique sank so low 
in her morality that at last Monsieur Tiquet gave 
his porter, who was a Gascon named Cattelain, 
strict orders not to permit the egress of his mis- 
tress, unless in company with himself, or on 
showing a written order from him. Angelique 
adding this man to her list of lovers, still was 
free to attend revels and masquerades, until her 
husband, discovering the connivance, dismissed 
him, and himself kept the keys. 

Of course Madame de Remonet was again 
taken into council by her pupil, and, in accord- 
ance with her advice, Angelique ceased opposi- 
tion to her husband, and endeavoured to regain 
his confidence. As if to crown his happiness, 
a little girl was now born, and the consequent 
seclusion of the young mother gave the presi- 
dent reason to hope that for the future all was 
well. But with Angelique's returning health 
returned her taste for pleasure. She was very 
affectionate in her manner to her husband, but 
she now and then insisted on attending places of 
amusement at which he knew she must meet 
Mongeorge. Cattelain, although dismissed from 
the president's service, was still in that of the 
lady, who gave him money, with which he set up 
a sort of cabaret in a remote part of the town. 
To that house, as was afterwards discovered, 
Madame Tiquet frequently went in disguise to 
meet Mongeorge and others. About the same 
time a famous female fortune-teller was turning 
the heads of Paris, and drew as the spirit- 

onjuror now draws crowds of all ranks to her 
seances. One day, Angelique entered the draw- 
ing-room of an acquaintance, where there was 
assembled a large party of both sexes, and dis- 
played so much animation that the hostess asked 
if anything particularly pleasant had occurred. 
Her answer was afterwards brought in evidence 
against her. 

" Yes," said she, " I have been to the fortune- 
teller, and she has solemnly assured me that I 
shall soon be perfectly happy, and freed from 
the great plague of my life. Of course I knew 
that must be Monsieur Tiquet ; so I besought 
her to say if I should be soon a widow, as only 
then could I be perfectly happy ; but she would 
do no more than repeat what she had said. How- 
ever, the thought that he may soon die is some- 
thing to live for." 

At this time Monsieur Tiquet was recovering 
from an attack of asthma, which had for many 
weeks confined him to his room, where he was 
attended by a valet, named Servin, as old as 
himself, who had lived with him thirty years, 
and who, looking with disfavour upon his young 
mistress, understood more of her ways than she 
supposed. A certain regimen had been pre- 
scribed for the invalid, of which a strong broth, 
to be taken at noon, formed a portion. Suddenly 
Angelique, once more becoming a domestic 
wife, insisted on preparing this broth her- 
self. Servin had his own views on the subject, 
and resolved to oppose stratagem by stratagem. 
On the first day of Angelique's acting as cook, 
the valet took a pet dog of the president's, a 
pretty white spaniel, and shut it into his own 
chamber. Taking care to be in the way at the 
right moment, he took the broth from her hands 
to carry to his master; but on his way to the 
sick-room visited his own, and pouring at least 
half the contents of the bowl on a plate, set it 
before the dog, and again shut him up. When 
he reached his master's room he found Ange- 
lique there. 

" Where have you delayed ?" she asked. 

" I spilt some of the soup, madame, and could 
not appear before my master till I had changed 
my coat, which was splashed." 

" Ah !" The cry was from Angelique, and was 
caused by Servin, whose foot slipped on the 
waxed and slippery margin beyond the carpet, 
so that he fell and broke the bowl. Angelique 
was enraged, but her anger only convinced the 
old man that he was right in his suspicion. Yet 
to his astonishment the dog did not suffer, but 
continued perfectly well, although he had eaten 
the whole portion allotted to him. The valet 
was therefore obliged to conclude that no poison 
had yet been mixed in the soup. Angelique con- 
tinued to prepare it, and Servin persevered in 
always taking out a portion for the dog before 
he gave it to his master. It was excellent, 
and both the dog and his master appeared the 
better for it. So things went on for about 
three weeks, and then Servin, on taking the 
bowl from his mistress one day, fancied that 
he discovered a certain nervous agitation in her 
manner ; in his hearing, too, she ordered her 

Clmrli-i Dickon .] 



foot inrm to accompany her directly, on a visit 
to Madame de Remonet. Servin hastened to 
feed the dog, having first made sure that his 
unstress was gone out. He was in the act of 
pouring out the broth, when an angry exclama- 
tion startled him, and he saw his master stand- 
ing by. 

" Do you dare to give my luncheon to the 
dog ?" he said ; and made Servin precede him to 
his chamber, where he seated himself before the 
tray. As he raised the first spoonful to his lips, 
the faithful valet arrested his hand. 

" Do not taste it, my dear master," he said ; 
" it is poisoned." 

" What do you say ?" 

" Your soup is poisoned." 

Servin brought in the dog, and gave him 
all the broth. Not a word was spoken 
either by master or servant for more than a 
quarter of an hour, during which the dog, 
heavy with a full meal, had gone to sleep before 
the fire. At last it seemed disturbed, rose, 
whined, rolled itself on the floor writhing in 
convulsions, and was violently sick. In ten 
minutes more, the dog was dead. 

There was now no doubt of Angelique's inten- 
tion, but the old president implored Servin, with 
tears, not to betray her to justice. The man 
solemnly promised, on condition that his master 
neither ate nor drank anything but what he him- 
self prepared and brought. It was resolved be- 
tween them to conceal their knowledge of the 
attempt as much as possible, and to allow Ange"- 
lique to believe that the broth had been taken 
by her husband, who would feign illness. He 
therefore retired to bed, and was scarcely there, 
when Ange"lique entered. 

" In bed 1" she exclaimed ; " I hope you are 
not worse !" 

He made no answer, but Servin, in a whisper, 
told her that his master had suddenly become 
very ill, and that perfect quiet would be ne- 
cessary for him. During two days Ang6lique 
waited on her husband, who remained in bed ; 
but, do what she would, Servin was not to be 
got rid of. If she desired him to fetch anything, 
he had it at hand in a closet, or rang for another 
servant, saying that the doctor had ordered him 
never to leave his master for an instant. On 
the evening of the second day, the valet had 
gone to the cupboard for something, and the 
president, fancying him still there, asked for a 
glass of eau sucree. Angelique flew to a table, 
mixed the drink, and added to it something from 
a little bottle which she hastily replaced in the 
bosom of her dress. 

The glass was suddenly taken from her hand. 
A half-stifled scream, betrayed her terror ; but 
Servin, dispensing with all ceremony, led her 
from the room, and closing the chamber door 
behind them, said sternly, 

" Tiiis cannot last longer, inn dame ; yon 
have put something by mistake into my 
master's eau sucree. I must learn from the 
physician \vh:it it is. Two days ago you made 
a similar mi>luke with monsieur's broth; but 
as it was .Fitiuc who drunk it, that did not so 

much matter, except that Fifme is dead, poor 
thing!" She did not answer, but steadying 
herself against the balustrade of the staircase, 
looked at the valet with distended eyes. " Ma- 
dame sees that to preserve my master from such 
accidents in future, it is necessary that I should 
ask the physician what is here," continued 
Servin, touching the glass. "But it would sim- 
plify matters amazingly, if madame would be so 
obliging as to give me the phial which is in the 
folds of her dress." 

" You will not betray me P" 

" On one condition, madame, I will not. 
You must leave the care of my master altogether 
to me. The fatigue is too much for you , and 
you make nervous mistakes which might be 
fatal. In future, J shall make the drinks, and, 
further, you will give me that bottle, which I 
shall set carefully aside, with this glass, lest, 
in an unhappy moment of forgetfulness, some- 
thing might occur which would render it neces- 
sary for me to produce them." 

He had scarcely spoken, when she dashed the 
glass from his hand, and the contents, mingled 
with the shattered fragments, fell through the 
balustrades, and dropped on the staircase beneath 

" I promise what you ask," she said, with a 
flash of triumph in her eyes. " The phial con- 
tains only an eye-wash." 

The valet shook his head. 

" You cannot come into my master's chamber 
again, madame ; if you do " 

He paused, and returned to the president, 
who had seen the beginning of the affair, and 
who now sat up in the bed trembling with 

"Again?" he asked. 

"Again; but I have explained to madame 
that she must come here no more." The 
wretched old president cast himself down on 
the pillow, moaning. " Calm yourself, mon- 
sieur," said the valet ; " I will not say anything 
of this, unless it should become necessary." 

The president made no reply, and Servin 
proceeded to arrange the room for the night : 
taking his own place in an arm-chair beside the 

The night wore on, and when the old man fell 
asleep at about midnight, Servin felt inclined 
to follow his example. Yet an undefined fear 
warned him to be watchful. He arose from 
I lie chair, and moved about the room, opening the 
curtains, and gazing out into the dark and stormy 
night; he stirred the fire and placed himself 
beside it, trimming the lamp, and taking up a 
book ; but he could hear Angelique, whose apart- 
ment adjoined that of her husband, moving 
cautiously about, and he was unable to fix his at- 
tention on the pages. Presently, the sounds in 
her chamber ceased ; nothing was to be heard 
save the moan of the wind without, and the 
crackling of the fresh wood he had piled on the 
hearth. He felt that the desire to sleep was 
overcoming him, and, casting about for means of 
rousing himself, it occurred to him to make 
some coffee. Noiselessly opening the door, he 

[November 3, 1SCO.] 


[Conducted by 

listened for a moment at Angelique's door ; all 
was still there ; he peered through the keyhole, 
but there was no light within, except from the 
flicker of her dying fire. Feeling that all was 
safe, he returned to his master's chamber, and 
taking a light, trod carefully along the corridor, 
and down the staircase to the lower story, to 
get the articles he needed. 

Scarcely had he reached the lowest step, when 
Angelique's door opened without a sound, and 
she looked over the balustrades at him : she had 
either been in bed, or was ready for bed, for a 
long white night-dress was her only covering. 
She entered her husband's room. Approaching 
the table on which his drink for the night was 
set, she removed the stopper from the carafe, 
and poured into it the whole contents of a 
bottle she carried. At this moment she heard 
Servin approaching ; he was ascending the stairs, 
she saw the reflection from the light he carried, 
on the ceiling of the room. She could not regain 
her chamber unobserved, but remembering that 
she had pulled her door close as she came out, 
she darted towards a large closet in her hus- 
band's room, lined with fixed wardrobes, and 
opening the door of one of these, stepped lightly 

She had scarcely shut the door upon herself 
when Servin entered the outer room, and shut 
himself in. She drew before her some of the 
garments which hung from the pegs, and cau- 
tiously settling herself into an endurable posi- 
tion, could hear Servin making, and drinking, 
his coffee. Presently Monsieur Tiquet began 
to mumble indistinctly, and to toss his arms 
and head. Anon the mutterings became in- 
coherent sharply-uttered words ; at length a 
fierce delirium came on. Servin took his 
master's hand: it was like fire to the touch. 
The sick man called for drink, and Servin, who 
had taken especial care in the preparation, 
hastened to give him some but to his surprise 
found the stopper out of the carafe ! 

Now, he distinctly knew that he had re- 
placed this stopper; a slight circumstance had 
impressed the 1'act on his mind ; it had fallen 
from his hand upon the table, and had made a 
noise, which had startled his master from his 
first sleep. 

He laid down the half-filled glass, and filled an- 
other with pure water, which the president drank 
eagerly. Then, going into the corridor, Servin 
went to Augelique's door ; it was closed, but not 
latched, and yielded to his touch. The fire was 
nearly out when he looked in, but, as his eyes be- 
came used to the half-twilight, he sawthat the bed 
coverings were turned down, and that the bed 
was unoccupied. He called to his mistress, sup- 
posing that she might be in the dressing-room, 
but when no answer was returned, he came back. 
He was sure that Angelique had entered her 
husband's chamber while he was first absent. 
He looked under the heavy valance of the 
bed, and examined every portion of the fur- 
niture, under or behind which she might be. 
Last of all, he went to the closet, and, as if by 
instinct, pulled open the leaf of the wardrobe, 

and drew aside the president's robe of office, 
under which the guilty woman lay. 

Her eyes met his, and without a word she 
rose and stepped from her hiding-place to the 

" Madame, you have broken the agreement." 
You cannot blame me if I now take measures 
to prevent any injury either to my master 
or myself. You must not leave tit is room 
till the physician, for whom I shall instantly 
send, shall have decided whether or no there 
be poison in the carafe the stopper of which I 
know was put in by me, but which I found lying 
on the table." 

The most abject entreaties succeeded Ange- 
lique's first speechless terror, but Servin was 
deaf to her prayers. In the rage which 
quickly supervened, when she flung herself 
on him in her endeavours to escape, her 
strength was no match for his ; yet the struggle 
was long before he at last got her into the 
closet, which had no window, and there locked 
her in. 

As soon as he had done that, he proceeded 
to awaken one of the men-servants, and sent 
him for the physician. His master was alarm- 
ingly worse ; his thin voice was raised in fearful 
screams ; his whole frame was agitated by vain 
struggles to get up. 

" Did you dare to kill my beautiful wife ?" he 

"Lie down, monsieur. I assure you that 
madarne is safe. She prefers to await the doctor's 
opinion in your wardrobe closet; she is too 
much agitated to come near your bed." 

The president stared at him, as if trying to 
comprehend his words, and then, with a heavy 
sigh, sank back exhausted. Dawn was breaking 
when the doctor arrived. Having first attended 
to the patient, who was quiet, though still 
wandering in mind, he listened while Servin 
detailed his suspicions and the causes which had 
aroused them, and finally produced the carafe, 
filled with clear amber fluid, at the bottom of 
which a white sediment had settled. 

By noon on the ensuing day, all Paris was 
in a ferment. The intelligence was in every 
mouth that Madame Tiquet, for an attempt upon 
her husband's life, was in prison and await- 
ing trial. The Chevalier Mongeorge, also, 
who had been until near midnight at the Hotel 
Tiquet, was under arrest, and so was Angelique's 
maid. The girl had in her terror confessed 
all she knew, which was not a little. She 
declared that her mistress had frequently gone, 
accompanied by her, to the cabaret of Cattelain, 
whence she brought sometimes powders, some- 
times liquids, which she told the girl were cos- 
metics that Cattelain's mother taught him to 
prepare. But the woman had watched, and 
had seen her mistress put portions of these 
things into the food of an Angora cat, and 
into the drinking-vessels of birds ; and they 
had all died. On one occasion, the girl had 
been about to drink some soup which stood 
in a bowl on her mistress's table, but had only 
taken one or two mouthfuls, when the lady came 



[Nor.rabr,JWO.J 89 

in, and was greatly enraged : throwing away the 
remaining contents of the basin. The maid was 
terribly ill for two days alter tlwt. At another 
time, Ange'lique had sent her to Cattelain's 
with a sealed letter, on receipt of which the 
man had delivered her a bottle which was the 
one now produced. It had been full when she 
gave it to her mistress ; now it was empty. Cat- 
tclaiu had said to her, " Be discreet, and you 
do not know what a great lady you yet may be. 
Some day, soon, that old fox Tiouet will die, 
aud I shall marry madame. We shall find 
you a good husband with money." She had 
believed him to be jesting, and had laughed ; on 
which he had seemed angry, and told her to 
make li:iMc home. 

'When she gave the bottle to her mistress, the 
latter had kissed it, and said, " I have herewith 
to pnnish all my enemies and make myself free. 
Have a care that you do not offend me." The 
girl had then asked her mistress what the phial 
contained ? On which she replied, " Enough to 
prevent half a dozen men from ever feeling a head- 
ache again. Something to cure Monsieur Ti- 
quel's asthma and jealousy, at one draught." 
This had occurred five days ago. She said she 
hail been afraid to tell, although she knew that it 
was poison which Cattelain had sent. On the 
day after the scene above described, she said to 
her mistress that she thought she must tell some 
one of what she knew, for it lay heavy on her 
conscience ; on which Angelique had made her 
swear to keep it secret : telling her that if she 
did not do so, she should have some of the 
poison herself : and that if she told, she would 
bring punishment on her own head, for she was 
now in the eyes of the law as criminal as her- 
lelf. This, she said, had kept her silent. On 
her deposition, Cattelain was arrested. In his 
house were found poisons of various kinds. Iix 
one bottle, from which she said lie had poured 
what he had given her, was a preparation of 
lie and aconite, which the physician who 
uded the president declared to be the 
same that was contained in the carafe of night 
drink. The girl was asked whether she believed 
Monsieur Mongeorge to be cognisant of Ma- 
dame Tiquet's intentions? She averred that 
he was not ; on the contrary, madame had told 
her tiiat if Monsieur Mongeorge knew, he 
would cast her off, much as he loved her. As 
for Cattelain, he firmly denied all the accusa- 
tions, and thru relapsea into a dogged sullenness, 
from which nothing roused him. 

Auu'i'lique, who quite recovered her audacity 
and self-possession, resisted all entreaties to 
confess her crime, avowing that nothing should 
induce her falsely to condemn herself, and cast 
a stigma on her child. She declared that the 
whole charge was a conspiracy between Serviu 
and her maid, who had an intrigue together ; 
that Servin had ruled his master before mar- 
ri:igi', was jealous of her influence, and had 
taken this method of getting rid of her. The 
torture by water was applied to her, but she 
bore its a^ony with firmness. In the same 
chamber, Cattclaiu was stretched ou the rack, 

and for some time bore the torture without 
tlinching; but as greater force was applied, he 
yelled, and made a full confession. He avowed 
that madame had promised to marry him when 
her husband should be dead, and that as he him- 
self was jealous of Mongeorge, he had meant to 
poison that person, as soon as he could find an 

It was plain that Mongeorge, who had been 
arrested, was only guilty in his love for An- 
gelique, and he was at once set free. He 
immediately repaired to the Hotel Tiquet, and 
enforced admittance to the president, who was 
restored to his senses, though prostrate with 
shame and grief. To him, Mongeorge confessed 
that he loved Ange'lique, and swore never again 
to see her if her husband would aid him to 
endeavour to procure her pardon. The pre- 
sident agreed. His passion for his wicked wife 
was strong, and Mongeorge drew up in his pre- 
sence a petition, which he signed. Then the 
chevalier departed to seek audience of the king, 
with whom he was a favourite. 

It was of no avail; the king was kind in man- 
ner, but inflexible. The crime of poisoning had 
fearfully increased, and he was advised most 
urgently, to punish the first poisoner who could 
be brought to justice. Moreover, Mongeorge's 
relatives, who were of great consideration, hav- 
ing learnt that the chevalier was about to inter- 
cede for Angelique, had been beforehand with 
him, and had besought that the law might be 
enforced. Pitying the young man's despair, the 
king again sent him from Paris, that he might 
not be in the way, to witness Angelique's trial 
and execution. Perforce, Mongeorge departed; 
but, in a few days, an old man, emaciated almost 
to a skeleton, his hair white, his limbs tottering, 
and supported by a grey-haired valet, demanded 
audience of the king. The petitioner held by 
one hand a lovely little girl, and, on being pre- 
sented to the king, knelt, and made his little 
daughter, kneeling also, join her tiny hands in 
supplication for her mother's life. The king 
raised him and embraced the child, but assured 
him that pardon was hopeless. 

The day of trial came. The most untroubled 
innocence could not have displayed an eye more 
cloudless, a brow more unruffled, than Ange'- 
lique's. Her matchless tresses were fully dis- 
played, being arranged in clusters of heavy long 
curls, crowned with a chaplet of white roses. 
Her robe of pure white was confined at the waist 
by a cincture of turquoises and diamonds. Ma- 
dame de Remonet, who had escaped on the 
first alarm of her niece's detection, had been ap- 
prehended, and Angelique knew nothing of 
this until she saw her aunt led into court, a 
prisoner like herself. Cattelain, who was carried 
in to give his evidence, fired when he saw the 
elder prisoner, and declared that it was she 
who had taught him to prepare the poisons, 
and who had counselled her niece to administer 
them. Sentence of death was passed on ail 
throe. The waiting-maid was pardoned in con- 
sideration of her voluntary confession, but con- 
demned to retire lor life to the convent of St. 

90 [Novembers, I860.] 


[Conducted bj 

Agathe. Cattelain managed to drag himself to 
the feet of his mistress and implore her pardon 
for having criminated her. " 1 forgive you, my 
poor Cattelain," she said ; " it was pain which 
forced you to belie yourself and me. Let those 
who have compelled the false confession, answer 
for it to God." 

Although every one was certain of Angelique's 
guilt, yet the sympathy excited by her strange 
beauty and by her fortitude, extended far and 
wide among all classes in Prance. To add to 
the dramatic effect of her trial, by a strange 
coincidence it happened that the judge who 
condemned her was her former lover, Henri 
St. Chaubert. She listened without falter- 
ing to the words of the sentence, and then 
looked up at him with a smile, saying loud 
enough to be distinctly heard by all, so awe- 
stricken was the silence in the court, " Ah ! Mon- 
sieur St. Chaubert, is that you? Formerly our 
positions were reversed : you were the trembling 
culprit, I was the judge. I hear your sentence 
to-day with more courage than you heard mine." 
St. Chaubert turned ghastly white, and was 
obliged to lean back in his seat. For many 
minutes, he could not control his feelings. 

Redoubled efforts were made to procure An- 
gelique's pardon, but the king refused to receive 
any more petitions in her favour. Although 
to the last she encouraged herself with the 
idea of ultimate escape from her terrible doom, 
the day of her execution found her (as may be 
supposed) still under sentence of death. Dressed 
as she had been at her trial, and accompanied 
by her aunt, and Cattelain, and attended by a 
priest who vainly implored her to confess, she 
was borne on a cart through the streets of 
Paris, exposed to the gaze of thousands upon 
thousands. She bore it unmoved, and her sole 
anxiety seemed to be that her lovely hair 
should not be wetted out of curl by a slight 
rain that was falling. When she reached the 
place of execution, she said, peremptorily, to 
the priest : 

" Cease, Monsieur 1'Abbe ; permit me to die in 
peace. Give my love to my husband and daugh- 
ter. Tell Monsieur Tiquet I forgive him his 
share in the foul conspiracy which has brought 
me to this ; and to the Chevalier Mongeorge 
give my kindest adieux, and my hair, if it must 
be cut off. So now, farewell, ior I will hear no 
more !" 

Her companions in crime suffered first. In 
a few minutes she, too, ceased to live. The 
excitement passed description. Women, and 
even men, shrieked and swooned ; many fell 
and were trodden to death. The smallest lock 
of her hair sold for a large sum. As for the 
wretched president, he retired from public life, 
and, living a life of the utmost seclusion with 
his child, placed her, when sufficiently old, in a 
convent of the Sacre Cceur, where she ultimately 
took the veil, about a year before her father's 

Of the poison spoken of in this true history, 
the worst was surely that which the honest, 
bookseller and jeweller gave to his little child 

when he first blindly suffered the foul-hearted 
woman who became his murderess, to drop her 
poisonous words into her ear. 



DECEMBER 14-. We escaped with the fright; 
the wolves either did not suspect our presence, 
or were hard pressed to obtain some easier prey. 
At one time, we thought they were burrowing 
through the snow, to storm our citadel in a 
body ; but it is not certain whether they might 
not be tearing to pieces some animal which they 
had hunted down on the spot. But when the 
surface of the snow is frozen hard, as it is now, 
it allows the wolves to travel over it rapidly. 
They do not, consequently, remain on the 
heights, where little is to be had, but they scour 
down the mountain and invade the plain, to 
seize whatever falls in their way in the outskirts 
of the villages. They departed as abruptly as 
they had arrived. 

Now that the door and the window are again 
barricaded by a deep accumulation of snow, it is 
clear that the trap of the chimney is our weak- 
est point. For the present, I dare not venture 
out to breathe the air ; which is sad. I have no 
choice but to remain a close prisoner. To 
guard against a second attack, and at the same 
time to be able to light a fire without being 
suffocated by smoke, I have fitted an iron tube, 
which I found in the stable, into a circular 
aperture which I have cut in the trap. It is 
safe and convenient, but it cuts us off more 
than ever from the outer world. 

Hitherto, my grandfather would touch neither 
coffee nor wine, reserving them for time of 
need. But our last anxieties have made him so 
unwell, that he has consented to try whether 
they will not restore his appetite and his 
strength. He wishes me to take my share ; 
but I am young, and can do very well without 
them. A long-continued milk diet, like that to 
which we are now confined, is apt to disagree 
with persons of his age. 

December 17. " Time passes," my grand- 
father said to-day ; " winter is approaching." 

" Approaching !" I answered. " Is not winter 
come ?" 

" Not yet, according to the almanack. Win- 
ter does ' not begin till the twenty-first ; it is 
still autumn; but who would believe that we 
are in the season of fruits ?" 

My grandfather has eaten scarcely anything 
to-day. I persuaded him to taste a little bread 
soaked in wine. It is evident that he makes an 
effort to appear more cheerful than he really 
feels. What should I do, were he to fall se- 
riously ill ? 

December 22. It is long since we have 
heard any noise outside ; our seclusion is more 
and more complete. We conclude that a large 
quantity of fresh snow has fallen, and that the 
chalet is probably completely buried under the 
mass. Nevertheless the iron tube still rises 
above it ; the smoke escapes freely : to-day a few 



flakes of snow have fallen down through this 
narrow channel. 

These white messengers of winter are the 
only tilings which keep up a communication be- 
tween ourselves and the world. If our clock 
were to stop, we should lose all cognisance of 
time. Our only means of distinguishing night 
from day would b the speck of fight which we 
cun see in the morning at the top of the iron 
tube. On the other hand, we suffer very little 
from cold in our silent cave. When we have 
lighted the lamp, and are busy about our daily 
tasks before a bright fire, we partly forget our 
unfortunate condition. At such moments, there 
are even certain of our acquaintances who 
would envy us. Who has not often wished to 
be Robinson Crusoe in his desert island P And 
yet, he had less cause for hope than we have. 
It was a mere chance that some stray vessel 
might touch at his island, whilst we are cer- 
tain that the snow will melt, sooner or later. 

December 25, Christmas-day. We devoted 
the day to meditation and prayer. We must be 
suffering under misfortunes to appreciate pro- 
perly what the Saviour has done for men. 
Before His advent, how bitter adversity must 
have been ! How easily it must have led to 
complainings and despair ! The reflection is not 
mine, but my grandfather's. 

If I am spared to descend from the moun- 
tain, I shall be able to say to my friends, " If 
you had known, as I have, how needful so- 
ciety is to every individual, you would feel 
towards one another no other sentiments than 
those of love and charity. Let us banish into 
temporary solitude all those who will not under- 
stand these things, and who stir up amongst 
us troubles and war. They will soon under- 
stand their folly; they will learn from expe- 
rience that it is not good for man to be alone ; 
they will love, as they love themselves, that 
neighbour without whom life would no longer be 
a blessing, but a chastisement of Providence." 

December 28. Yesterday, my grandfather 
had no appetite; but he did not complain of 
pain. In the evening, after supper, as he was 
sitting by the corner of the fire, he suddenly 
turned pale, tottered, and sank down. Without 
my assistance, he would have fallen into the fire. 

I took him in my arms, and with an effort of 
which I did not believe myself capable, I trans- 
ported him to his bed, where I first seated him 
and then laid him at full length. His head and 
his hands were cold; the blood had rushed to- 
wards the heart. I took care not to raise the 
patient's head, but left it low, and the blood 
soon flowed back to it. Consciousness returned 
at the same timr. 

" Where am I P On the bed ?" said my (rrand- 

P A 1 r O 


" Certainly ; you turned faint, and I thought 
it best to lay you there." 

" He brought me here ! Heaven be praised 
for it I As I become weaker, he grows stronger," 
he said. I knelt by the bedside for a while. At 
last he consented to drink a little wine, and felt 
the better for it. 

January 1. We have been keeping New 
Year's-day as well as we could ; my grandfather 
exerted himself to cheer up my spirits. He 
tried to amuse me with conundrums and riddles. 
We feasted at supper on potatoes cooked in the 
ashes, toasted cheese, ana toasted bread sopped 
in wine. The goat was not forgotten ; I picked 
out the sweetest hay for her provender; she 
had a clean bed, a double ration of salt, and a 
triple allowance of caresses. 

My grandfather wishes to add a few words in 
his own handwriting : 

" In the name of God, Amen ! 

" It is possible that I may be taken from my 
friends, before I can acquaint them with my 
last wishes. I have no general directions to 
give respecting the disposal of ray property; 
that duty has been performed long ago ; but I 
wish to acknowledge the care and devotion of 
my dear grandson, Louis Lopraz, here present. 
And as it is impossible for me to make nim the 
slightest new year's offering to-day, I beg my 
heirs to supply the omission by giving him, on 
my part, my repeater watch ; my carabine ; my 
Bible, which belonged to my father ; and lastly, 
my steel seal, on which are engraved my initials, 
which are the same as those of my godson and 

"I am convinced that he will value these 
slight tokens, for the sake of the affectionate 
friendship which unites us, and which death 
itself will not cause to cease. 

" Such is my will. 

" Signed at the Chalet of Anzindes, the 1st 
of January. 


January 5. My grandfather spoke to me this 
morning about the state of his health without 
disguising anything. Every word he said is 
still ringing in my ears. 

" My dear boy," he said, after making me sit 
down by his side, " I can no longer conceal from 
myself that the close of my life is not far distant. 
Whether we shall be able to keep united ray 
soul and the portion of dust which is called my 
body until I can witness your deliverance, is 
more than I can tell; but I scarcely dare to 
hope it. My weakness increases with a rapidity 
which astonishes me ; and it is to be presumed 
that I shall leave you to finish our sad winter 
quarters alone. 

" You will be, I doubt not, more grieved at 
our separation than alarmed at your loneliness ; 
you will feel more sorrow than fear. But I have 
sufficient confidence in your pious feelings and 
your strength of mind to be persuaded that you 
will not fall into a culpable degree of depression ; 
you will think of your father, whom you will as- 
suredly see again, and that will keep up your 
courage. A little reflection will convince you 
t hat , after my death, you will be exposed to no 
greater danger in the chalet than you were be- 
fore. On the contrary, I have rather been a 
burden to you ; you will no longer have famine 
staring you in the face. I strongly advise you 
to wait patiently. Do not expose yourself too 

92 [November 3, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

soon. A few days more or less are not worth 
reckoning in so long a captivity; and you 
may risk all by forestalling the favourable mo- 

"My dear Louis, I am only uneasy on one 
account, if I must tell you so : I fear the effect 
of my death upon your imagination. When you 
behold this body deprived of life, it will strike 
you with a feeling of terror, perhaps of horror 
and disgust, which is very unreasonable, but 
which many people cannot overcome. 

"And why should you be afraid of the re- 
mains of your aged friend ? Are you afraid of 
me when I am asleep ? The other day, when I 
fainted, you did not believe me capable of harm- 
ing you ; you saw nothing but the necessity of 
assisting me, and you did your duty like a cou- 
rageous man. Well, then, if you should see me 
fall into that final swoon which is called death, 
behave with equal presence of mind. My body 
will require from you only one last service : dare 
to render it, when nature has warned you that 
the moment is come. Your strength will be 
quite sufficient ; you gave proof of it the other 
evening, when you carried me and laid me upon 
this bed. 

"You see that door; it leads to the dairy, 
where we never go now, because it is useless to 
us. You will there dig a grave as deep as you 
can make it, to receive my body, until you return 
to fetch it in the spring and give it a regular 
funeral in the village cemetery. 

" After those sad moments, you will find this 
dwelling very lonely ; you will shed many tears ; 
you will perhaps call me, and I shall not answer. 
Do not waste your strength in useless regrets. 
Address your thoughts solely to Him who never 
fails to answer when we invoke Him with confi- 

Such were the exhortations which I received 
from my grandfather this morning ; and, as if he 
felt relieved by having given them, he has since 
been more tranquil, more serene, and almost 
joyous. For my own part, I cannot believe that 
so clear and strong a mind can be dwelling in a 
body which is so near dissolution. The danger 
has been set before my eyes, but it still seems 
far distant. May God confirm my favourable 
anticipations ! 

January 7. Darkness has a more depressing 
effect on sick persons than it has on people in 
health ; although it is said to be injurious even 
to the robustest health. Light was made for 
man, and man for the light. We have contrived 
this morning a mode of economising our oil, 
without remaining completely in the dark. We 
have made a night-light with a thin slice of cork, 
through which we have thrust a very small wick. 
This feeble light suffices for my work, and it 
cheers my grandfather a little. We will make 
us of this for the future, and only rarely light 
the large lamp ; for, upon trial, I find that I can 
manage to write with this. 

January 10. It was the will of God ! . . . I 
am left alone with Him, far away from all the 
rest of the world. It happened the day before 
yesterday. It is impossible to go on and write 

the full account of his death. The paper is 
soaking wet with my tears. 

January 12. Yes, this is really the twelfth 
of January ; two days have elapsed since I wrote 
the preceding lines. . . My reason is returning ; 
it shall get the upper hand, if it please God. Un- 
less I felt that-the Lord was with me and around 
me, I too should die, and that of fright alone. 

January 13 and 14. On the seventh, I went 
to bed full of hope ; my grandfather appeared 
to be better than usual ; but before I had fallen 
asleep, I heard him groan, and I jumped up in- 
stantly. Without waiting for him to ask me to 
go and help him, I dressed myself, lighted the 
lamp, which stood ready, and asked him how he 

" I feel faint," he- said ; " it will be like the 

other day ; or perhaps !" He checked 


" Dear grandfather, will you take a spoonful 
of wine ?" 

" No, my child ; only moisten my temples 
and rub my hands with vinegar and get the 
Bible. Read me that passage, you know which, 
where I have placed a slip of paper." 

I obeyed. When I had finished it, he inter- 
rupted me, made me come near him, took my 
hands in his, and uttered a long prayer. He 
pronounced the words slowly, in a feeble voice, 
and at considerable intervals. He then made 
me recite some portions of Scripture which I 
knew by heart ; at times, he called to mind pas- 
sages of the Bible and words of the Saviour, 
which he repeated with a fervour and resignation 
that melted me to tears. 

I will add one trifling circumstance, which, 
however, affected me greatly. Blanchette, sur- 
prised, perhaps, at seeing a light shining at an 
unusual hour, set up a continued bleating. 

" Poor Blanchette !" said the dying man ; " I 
must caress her just once more. Let her loose, 
my boy, and lead her to my bedside." 

I did as he desired ; and Blanchette, in her 
familiar way, put her two fore-feet on the edge 
of the bedstead, begging for some little tit-bit 
to be given to her. We had accustomed her to 
take from the hand, in this way, a grain or two 
of salt. I thought I should be doing what was 
agreeable to my "patient, if I laid a little salt in 
his hand. Blanchette took it instantly, and 
licked his hand afterwards. 

" Always be a good nurse ! Give plenty of 
rnilk !" he said, passing his arm round her neck 
with an effort. He then, turned aside his head. 
I led Blanchette away and fastened her to the 

After that he uttered scarcely any connected 
words ; only, he made me understand that he 
wished me to remain close to him, with my hand 
in his. I felt a slight pressure at intervals ; and, 
as his eyes spoke to me at the same time, I com- 
prehended that he was collecting his last strength 
to express his affection, and that I should be 
uppermost in his thoughts until life should 

I said a few affectionate words ; at which his v 
looks brightened up, and I saw that it would be 

Oharlo* UlckcniO 



[Soembcr3, l 


to him if I continued. I therefore 
leaned down towards him, and said with as firm 
a voice iu I could command, 

"Adieu! adieu! Farewell, till we meet in 
I leaven ! 1 am resolved to obey your injunctions 
faithfully. . . I believe in God the Father; I 
believe in the compassion and the merits of the 
'Hir. Do not be anxious on my account. 
You have prepared me so well, that I now stand 
in need only of God's assistance." 

.ay poor grandfather squeezed my hand 
more forcibly, and, making an unavailing effort 
to answer me, he could only express his joy by 
a long-drawn sigh. 

" I will take care to remember," I continued, 
"all the advice you gave for the preservation of 
my life. For the love of you, I will neglect 
nothing that can prolong my existence and help 
me to escape from the chalet. Farewell, dear 
grandfather! Farewell! farewell!" 

I felt one more feeble pressure of the hand : 
it was the last ; for his hand, which had gradually 
grown colder, let mine drop. He expired with- 
out effort, without convulsion, and without a 

My most terrible moments, after that time, 
were not the first. It was when I slowly came 
to myself, and found myself alone in that sad 
habitation with a dead body ; it was then that 
I felt an involuntary shudder run through me, 
especially when night came. 

In the morning, I had sufficient command 
over myself to wind up the clock and to 
milk Blanchctte ; the cold compelled me to 
light a fire : that gave me occupation : but I 
afterwards fell into a stupor of grief. Unfortu- 
nately, that same evening the wind rose with 
such violence that I could hear the wailing of 
its mournful gusts more plainly than I had done 
for some time past. 

I was sitting in the chimney-comer; I was 
watching by the feeble glimmer of the night- 
light, with my back turned towards the bed : 
little by little, I felt a shivering fit come over 
me ; I was no longer master of my own ideas. 
My mental trouble would have gone on increas- 
ing, and might have become of serious conse- 
quence, if I had not thought of a mode of 
putting an end to it which many people might 
think would make it worse. I went up to the 
corpse, at first constrainedly, afterwards with 
u:r resolution. I looked at it: I dared to 
t ucli it. It was a painful effort; nevertheless 
I persisted. 1 repeated the action several times, 
and I felt that the shock I had suffered became 
by degrees more supportable. 

From that time I did not cease, at short 
intervals, to return to the remains of my de- 
parted friend. I fulfilled with respect to them 
the same offices which persons accustomed to 
such tilings perform coolly. The expression 
of the countenance was so calm and pleasant, 
it caused me to shed tears. " No," 1 
sobbed aloud, " I am not afraid." 

Nevertheless, my anguish returned when I 
felt that sleep was stealing over me ; at my age, 
it is impossible to resist it. Was I to go and 

lie down by the side of the body P My resolu- 
tion did not carry me so far as that; and I 
sought, I must confess, a very wretched pro- 
tection from the superstitious fears which were 
resuming their sway : I went and took refuge by 
the side of Blanchette. The warmth and the 
vital motion which I found in this poor animal, 
the slight noise she made while chewing the cud, 
reassured me in some slight degree. 

At last I fell into a sound sleep. 

The next day, as soon as 1 woke, I recom- 
menced the struggle of yesterday ; I employed 
myself as much as possible about the goat and 
my other work, and, above afl, I frequently 
went near to the body. I even held that dear 
and venerable head for a considerable time in 
my hands. The more my fear diminished, the 
more 1 felt my grief increase ; and I was pleased 
with myself on observing so reasonable and so 
natural a change. My thoughts then became 
directed, to the preparations for the burial, and 
I recalled to miua what my grandfather had 
said. I believe that it was with a secret inten- 
tion that he had sometimes spoken of the dan- 
gers of precipitate interments ; I resolved, there- 
fore, to wait until nature should compel me to 
accomplish this last duty. The lively affection 
which I retained for my grandfather kept me 
from yielding to the cowardly wish to get rid of 
a painful spectacle at the very earliest moment 

But I took my tools, and opened the dairy 

" What a Jack-of-all-trades!" I said to myself. 
" First, nurse and doctor, and now gravedigger ! 
What other bereaved relatives are spared the 
sight of, I am obliged to execute with my own 
hands !" 

The first few strokes revolted me, and I was 
obliged to stop short. It was not that my arms 
refused to work, but my mind was troubled, and 
deprived me of the requisite energy. Every 
time I struck the ground, a loud echo re- 
sounded from the roof, which was vaulted with 
bricks, like that of a cen^r. I was obliged to 
accustom myself to the sound, and it took me 
the whole day to do an amount of work which 
ought not to have occupied more than a couple 
of hours. In fact, the ground is sandy and 
light, and at last I was able to throw it out with 
the shovel without being obliged to break it up 
previously. I took advantage of the circum- 
stance to dig a deep grave ; for I said to my- 
self if the chalet has to be left empty for any 
length of time (whether I escape from it, or 
whether it is my turn to die next), I ought to 
use my utmost endeavours to preserve the body 
from ravenous beasts. I therefore went on 
with my melancholy task, until I was standing 
in a grave as deep as 1 was high. The clock 
struck ten. Night was come, and all its black 
thoughts with it. But the violent exercise 
which I had taken soon enabled me to fall 
asleep. It was only deferred a few minutes by 
Blanchctte' s caresses ; she seems very glad to 
have me with her, and never refuses to serve as 
my pillow, t 

94 [Novembers, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

On the llth of January, my first thought on 
waking was to make an end of my painful task ; 
when I had lighted the lamp, I felt my courage 
oozing away. I was obliged to have recourse 
to a new remedy with which I ought to have 
been able to dispense. Instead of breakfasting 
as usual on boiled milk and potatoes, I took a 
little bread and wine. This regimen restored a 
certain degree of firmness which I cannot ascribe 
to my own personal character, but of which I 
took advantage without delay. T had well con- 
sidered the means of execution, and everything 
had been prepared the day before. 

Oh, my dear grandfather, when you taught me, 
in front of your house, to transport a heavy body 
by the employment of rollers, we little thought 
that I should apply your lessons on so sad an 
occasion as this. The remembrance of what you 
then told me was completely refreshed in my 
memory. I could hear the sound of your voice, 
in imagination ; and when the funereal burden 
nodded its head, as if in sign of approbation, I 
was so overcome that I turned my eyes away, 
like a person who dreads to look over the brink 
of a precipice. 

The way was smoothed : the body was soon 
beside the grave. The most easy way would 
have been to let it fall in ; but I could not make 
up my mind to treat it with so little reverence. 
Every difficulty being vanquished at last, what 
then remained to be done gave me but little un- 
easiness. I could freely give way to my grief. 
Seated on the mound which I had raised with 
my own hands, I wept abundantly by the side 
of that open grave. I could not resolve to 
throw in the first shovelfuls of earth without 
performing some sort of funeral service. I 
knelt, and searched my memory for passages of 
Scripture suitable to the occasion. I took the 
Bible, being sufficiently acquainted with it to 
,find fitting portions, and such as my grandfather 
would have pointed out. While reading aloud, 
it appeared to me as if I had quitted my solitude. 
The holy volume responded to my emotion. At 
last I stopped, through exhaustion ; I collected 
my thoughts, and no longer deferred what re- 
mained to be done. In a short space of time, 
the grave was filled. I spent the rest of the day 
in carving with the point of my knife the follow- 
ing inscription on a small tablet of maple-wood: 

Here rests the body of Louis Lopraz, -who died in 
the night of the 7th-8th of January, in the arms of 
his grandson Louis Lopraz, who buried him with his 
own hands. 

I nailed the tablet to a stake, which I planted 
on the mound over the grave ; after which I 
closed the door and returned to the kitchen, 
where Blanchette is my only company. Never- 
theless, although I feel more at ease now the 
body is no longer lying on the bed, I find that 
some remains of weakness still linger in my 
mind. I combat them by paying frequent visits 
to the grave, and always without a light. I 
have resolved to say my prayers there night and 

January 15. Yes ; my position is greatly 
changed; I become more and more* aware of it 

every day. I had a friend and a companion, and 
yet I dared to complain ! God is punishing me 
for my former discontent. I am left alone all 
alone ! This thought pursues me the whole day 

January 16. I cannot shake off my weakness. 
I left my bed in a state of languor and discou- 
ragement, which continues. I write merely for 
writing's sake. If 1 told the whole truth, this 
journal would now be filled with a melancholy 
picture of despair. I have hardly the energy to 
guide my pen. My first distress when we were 
made prisoners here, my fright when the wolves 
threatened to devour us, and the sad scenes of 
my grandfather's death and burial, were as 
nothing compared with the prostration of 
strength into which I have fallen. I had no 
conception of this kind of suffering. Even 
prayer does not help me out of it. 

January 24. Providence, to drag me out of 
the weariness of ennui, has sent a new source of 
disquietude. The goat yields a smaller quantity 
of milk. I thought I observed it several days 
ago ; at present, I cannot doubt the fact. 

January 25. My grandfather certainly fore- 
saw the possibility of my being detained here all 
by myself, and gave me several hints how I 
should act under such circumstances. One day 
he said, " What should we do if Blanchette were 
to go dry ? It would be absolutely necessary to 
pluck up our resolution to kill her, and live on 
her flesh as long as we could." He followed 
this up with explanations how we should have 
to manage, to preserve her flesh. Am I to be 
reduced to this cruel extremity ? 

January 26. If matters do not grow worse, 
I may set my mind at ease. Blanchette still 
gives enough milk for my sustenance. I have 
several cheeses in store. I have examined the 
remainder of my stock, and have spent the day 
in calculating how long it would last, if I had 
nothing else. It would not carry me through a 

January 27. The yield of milk decreases, and 
the goat fattens in proportion. Consequently, 
in case of her milk failing, the poor creature is 
preparing to sustain my life with her own sub- 
stance ! I am now haunted by one horrid idea : 
shall I be driven to the necessity of turning 
butcher ? Shall I be obliged, in. order to pro- 
long my own existence, to cut the throat of the 
animal which has fed me up to the present ? I 
have now only a half ration of milk. 

February 7. I have tried every expedient. 
Once I got a little more milk by giving her a 
triple allowance of salt, which made her drink 
more. But it was impossible to go on so ; be- 
cause I shall require all my salt, if Poor 

Blanchette ! I have heard that hens too fat and 
well fed, do not lay so abundantly as lean ones ; 
so I thought I would try the effect of giving my 
goat a smaller quantity of hay. But it did not 
answer. She yielded still less milk, and I had 
the vexation of hearing her bleat half the day. 
It is now not worth while milking her twice a 
day ; so I have waited till the evening, in order 
to get a little more. But she will hardly let me 


[NoYwnbor 3, 1MO.) 95 

come near her. 1 have hurt her teat by pressing 
it too hard. 

nary 8. I will confess my weakness ; I 
shed tears to-day when I tried in vain to milk 
lictle for the last time. When she saw 
that, 1 jrau: u|> the task, she gazed at me dis- 
truM fully, as if putting herself ou her guard 
against a fresh at tempi. 1 pushnl the basin on 
one side, and sat down by the poor creature. I 
threw my arms round her, and wept bitterly. 

She went on eat in? all the same, bleating oc- 
casionally, and looking at me affectionately. 
They say that goats do not distinguish persons, 
and that they never manifest the jealous and de- 
voted attachments of dogs; nevertheless, Blan- 
chctte i> fond of her companions, and shows 
confidence in them. She looks to me for food 
ami the necessary attentions to which I have 
accustomed her ; and I must now put a knife 
into her tliroat ! Inexperienced as I am in such 
a task, I can scarcely avoid causing her great 
and prolonged suffering. 

God has given the animals to man for food ; 
I know it : but it is showing no ingratitude for 
his bounty if we become attached to those which 
have rendered us benefits, and which are of a 
gentle and affectionate disposition. I will, 
therefore, delay the cruel sacrifice up to the last 
possible moment. I have still a few victuals left, 
and I will economise them as closely as I can. 

nary 12. With so many sorrows press- 
imr on me, it is impossible to keep my journal 
withst rict regularity. My provisions are all but 
finished; Blanchette grows fatter than ever. It 
goes to my heart every time I caress her. I 
!ia\ c made a fresh search all over the house ; I 
have broken up the floor in several places, to try 
and discover, if possible, some hidden store of 
provision. All I have gained by this violent 
exercise, is to excite my appetite. The idea 
that. I have scarcely a morsel left to eat, makes 
me, I believe, all the hungrier. 

February 17 Since yesterday the frost has 
become so sharp at night, that I am obliged to 
keep up a constant fire. Certainly, if this 
weather lasted, I should have no hesitation in 
shutting up my poor victim's flesh in the stable, 
where it freezes hard, without any further pre- 
parat ion. Bulthe weather may change. I must 
decide upon something without delay. I have 
onl\ just enough salt left for my butchering 
purposes ! 

February 18. The cold is intense; it recals 
the visit of the wolves to mind. There is no- 
thing now to hinder them from traversing the 
mountain in all directions. Under these de- 
sperate circumstances, it is the only end which 
makes me shudder. Were an avalanche per- 
mitted to crush me to-day, I should hail death 
as a deliverance. 

February 20. I have come to a grand reso- 
lution ! I will leave the chalet to-morrow. Be- 
fore risking my life, I wish to record in my 
journal what made me come to this conclusion, 
t day morning, Blanchette's bloat ing 
woke me out of a frightful dream. I ti> 
1 was standing, with woody hands, cutting up 

the poor animal's Quivering flesh ; her head lay 
before me ; I could nevertheless hear it utter 
cries of pain. These were what actually did 
strike my ear. I awoke with my cheeks stream- 
ing with tears. How delighted I was to behold 
Blanchette still living ! I ran up to her ; she 
was more affectionate than ever. My joy was 
not of long duration. I remembered that desti- 
tution stared me in the face ; indecision was im- 
possible. I took a knife, and set to work to 
sharpen it on the hearthstone. I was at my 
wits' end ; I felt as if I were going to commit 
a murder ; and, after advancing unsteadily for 
the purpose of giving the fatal blow, I stopped 
short, overpowered by feelings of remorse. 

My hands were benumbed with cold, another 
reason for deferring the act which inspired me 
with such disgust and repugnance. I lighted a 
good fire, ana pondered as I warmed myself. 
" If the wolves can travel over the snow," it 
suddenly struck me, " why should not we travel 
over it as well ?" 

This idea thrilled me with joy -, then fear 
stole over my mind. I was about to surrender 
myself to those ravenous brutes. To avoid 
making Blanchette my prey, I was exposing 
myself to become the prey of wolves ! 

And, if I kill the goat I afterwards consi- 
dered am I sure that her flesh will suffice for 
my support until the moment of deliverance ? 
I have sometimes seen the Jura all covered with 
white quite into the summer. I must not lose 
the opportunity now offered while the snow is 
frozen. That the wolves will attack us during 
our course, is far from a certainty; for, if I 
start, our pace will be rapid ; we will descend in 
a sledge ! 

I sprang to my feet instantly ; my resolution 
was taken, and, from that moment, I laboured 
at its execution. In a short space of time, I 
had roughly put together the vehicle necessary 
for our journey, employing the very best wood 
which remained. I gave to the supports of the 
sledge a considerable width, to prevent their 
sinking in the snow. I intend fastening the 
goat behind, and tying her feet, so as to hinder 
her from struggling, and propose to place my- 
self in front. Accustomea in my childish sports 
to guide a sledge down steep slopes, I hope, if 
no accident occurs, speedily to reach the plain. 

Meanwhile, I am about to lie down to rest, 
although the excitement will hardly allow me 
to sleep. I cannot gaze without emotion on the 
walls of this prison where I have suffered so 
much, and where I shall leave my grandfather's 
remains. I think with terror of the distance 
which lies between me and the village ; but I 
will not draw back. The thought of being soon 
certain respecting my father's fate renders me 
incredibly impatient. The sledge is ready. 
Here is the rope with which I will tie Blan- 
chette's feet ; here is the sheaf of straw which is 
to serve her for bed and shelter ; here is the 
blanket which I will wrap around me ; and, lastly, 
hen is the Bible. I will never part with if 
more ; it shall accompany me unto life or unto 



[November 3, I860.] 

In the last scene of ray captivity, things passed 
quite differently to what I had expected. 

On the 21st of February, the cold struck me 
as increasing in severity; I therefore deter- 
mined not to lose an instant. I had to open a 
passage wide enough for the sledge to pass 
through ; but I could throw back the snow into 
the chalet, and that made my task easier. I 
immediately set to work, and laboured at it so 
heartily, that at last I felt tired. I was obliged 
to rest awhile. I lighted a fire. 

Scarcely had the smoke risen in the air, when 
I heard a great noise outside. My first thought 
was that the wolves had got scent of me, 
and that they were on the point of devouring 
me. I violently shut to the door. My fright 
did not last long, for I soon heard myself dis- 
tinctly called by name, and I even thought I 
could recognise the voice. I answered with all 
my strength. 

Instantly there arose, in the direction of the 
door, a confused sound of voices, like that of 
people excited by their work in hand. In a 
few minutes, a tolerably wide opening completed 
i the passage which I had begun. It was my father. 
He scarcely waited for the breach in the snow to 
be fairly open. lie darted with a cry into the 
chalet. I was in his arms. 

"And your grandfather?" he asked. 

I was too much overcome to answer : I led 
him into the dairy He knelt beside the grave ; 
I did the same ; and, as I endeavoured to tell him 
in detail what had passed, he saw, by my agita- 
tion, that the attempt was beyond my strength. 

The men who accompanied him had entered. 
They were my two uncles, and Pierre, our ser- 
vant. They all embraced me. They saw my 
preparations, and approved of them. They de- 
cided to start immediately. My liberators had 
fastened to their feet small pieces of board 
armed with little points. They had brought a 
couple of pairs besides. Ah ! one of them was 
useless; I put on the other. Pierre took 
charge of the sledge. The wolves now might 
come if they pleased ; we were all armed. My 
father took me by the hand, and laid on my 
shoulder a light gun which I knew how to use. 

" This is not the time," he said, " to remove 
my father's mortal remains. We will come and 
fetch them as soon as the season allows us, 
when they shall decently receive the last re- 
spect due to them, in the village cemetery." 

"You have divined," I replied, "my grand- 
father's last wishes." 

We retired for an instant into the dairy ; my 
uncles were with us. After a few moments of 
silence, my father, all in tears, exclaimed, 

" Adieu ! father. No doubt I am doing what 
you would request me to do, in removing this 
lad as soon as possible, whose fate must have 
caused you as much apprehension as it has 
given us. Father, adieu !" 

We departed ; our eyes were full of tears. 
The descent was rapid but fatiguing. I was 

especially dazzled by the light of the sun 
and the brilliancy of the snow. The cold was- 
severe, and I did not complain; it was what 
had saved me. 

After travelling over the snow with no other 
accident than sinking in a little from time to 
time, we arrived at the spot, still a long way 
from the village, up to which they had opened 
the road in their endeavours to reach us. I was 
astonished to see the immense labour it must 
have cost ; and I comprehended that, without 
the frost, a long time must still have elapsed 
before I could be delivered. 

" You would have been rescued in the month 
of December, if -the frost had held on," my 
father said; "but the snow softened, and we 
had no choice but to work as hard as we could 
at this undertaking. You must know, my dear 
Louis, that our neighbours have been wanting 
neither in charity nor zeal ; but, within the 
memory of man, never was there such a heavy 
fall of snow. Four times did we open the road, 
and four times was it drifted up again." 

"Was it blocked up from the first day ?" I 

My father then informed me of a very unfor- 
tunate circumstance. He nearly lost his life 
from the sliding of a mass of snow, as he was 
descending the mountain. They picked him up 
in a dying state at the edge of a ravine, and, a 
few paces further on, they found my grand- 
father's stick, and my bottle. 

My father was carried home senseless, where 
he continued for three days in a precarious con- 
dition. They lost all that time in searching for 
us amongst the snow at the bottom of the ra- 
vine. When my father came to himself, it was 
too late to make any attempt in our favour, 
which would already have been very dangerous, 
if not impossible, after the first day. 

All our neighbours came out to meet me, tes- 
tifying their friendly disposition ; and I blushed 
to have ever doubted it. Everybody is curious 
to see Blanchette. She is overwhelmed with 
caresses on my account. She is treated to the 
best hay and the dryest litter ; she will be the 
most pampered and the happiest of goats. 

God has saved my life. He has not per- 
mitted my grandfather to behold his family 
again. But the good friend whom I have 
lost, taught me never to murmur at the de- 
crees of Providence. 



Will be commenced 




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THERE is no denying it, I have led a life of 
far more than ordinary happiness. The white 
squares in the chequer of my existence have cer- 
tainly equalled the black ones, and it is not 
every man can say as much. I suspect I owe a 
great share of this enjoyment to temperament, 
to a disposition not so much remarkable for 
opposing difficulties, as for deriving all the pos- 
sible pleasure from any fortunate conjuncture. 
This gift I know I possess. I am not one of 
those strong natures which, by their intrinsic 
force, are ever impressing their own image on 
the society they live in. I am a weak, frail, 
yielding creature, but my very pliancy has 
given me many a partnership in emotions which, 
with a more rugged temperament, I had not par- 
taken of. When one has wept over a friend's 
misfortunes and awakes to the consciousness 
that no ill has befallen himself, he feels as some 
great millionnaire might feel when he has be- 
stowed a thousand pounds in charity and yet 
knows he is never the poorer. With the proud 
consciousness of this fresh title to men's admira- 
tion, he has the secret satisfaction of knowing 
that he will go clothed in purple as before, ana 
fare to-day as sumptuously as yesterday. Do 
not, most generous of readers, call this selfish- 
ness. It is the very reverse. It is the grand 
culminating point of human sympathy. 

I have a great deal more to say about myself. 
It is a theme I am really fond of, but I am not 
exactly sure that you are like-minded, or that 
this is the fittest place for it. I return to 

It was on a bright, breezy morning of the 
early autumn that a heavy old German travel- 
ling carriage a waggon ! rattled over the un- 
even pavement of Kalbbratenstadt, and soon 
gaining one of the long forest alleys, rolled 
noiselessly over the smooth sward. Within sat 
an elderly lady with a due allowance of air 
cushions, toy terriers, and guide-books ; in the 
rumble were a man and a maid ; and in the 
cabriolet in front were a pale but placid girl, 
with large grey eyes and long lashes, and he who 
now writes these lines beside her. They who 
had only known me a few months back as a fresh- 
man of Trinity would not have recognised me 
now, as I sat with a long-peaked travelling-cap, 

a courier's belt and bag at my side, and the open- 
ing promise of a smail furry moustache on my 
upper lip ; not to say that I had got up a sort of 
supercilious air of contemptuous pity for the 
foreigner, which I had observed to be much in 
favour with the English abroad. It cost me 
dear to do this, and nothing but the conscious- 
ness that it was one of the requirements of my 
station could have made me assume it, for in 
my heart of hearts I revelled in enjoyment of 
all around me. I liked the soft, breezy, balmy 
air, the mellow beech wood, the grassy turf 
overgrown with violets, the wild notes of the 
frightened wood-pigeon, the very tramp-tramp 
of the massive horses, with their scarlet tassels 
and their jingling bells, all pleased and inte- 
rested me. Not to speak ot her who, at my 
side, felt a very child's delight at every novelty 
of the way. 

"What would I have said to any one who, 
only a fortnight ago, had promised me such 
happiness as this ?" said I to my companion, as 
we drove along, while the light branches rustled 
pleasantly over the roof of the carriage, darken- 
ing the shade around us, or occasionally deluging 
us with the leaves as we passed. 

" And are you then so very happy ?" asked 
she, with a pleasant smile. 

" Can you doubt it ? or rather is it that, as 
the emotion does not extend to yourself, you do 
doubt it ?" 

"Oh, as for me," cried she, joyfully, "it is 
very different. I have never travelled till now 
seen nothing, actually nothing. The veriest 
common-places of the road, the peasants' cos- 
tumes, their wayside cottages, the little shrines 
they kneel at, are all objects of picturesque in- 
terest to me, and I am ready to exclaim at 
each moment, ' Oh ! why cannot we stop here ? 
shall we ever see anything so beautiful again as 

" And hearing you talk thus, you can ask me 
am I so very happy !" said I, reproachfully. 

" What I meant was, is it not stupid to have 
no companion of your own turn of mind, none 
with whom you could talk without condescend- 
ing to a tone beneath you, just as certain stories 
are reduced to words of one syllable for little 
children ?" 

' : Mademoiselle is given to sarcasm, I see," 
said J, half peevishly. 

" Nothing of the kind," said she, blushing 
slightly. "It was iu perfect good faith. I 

VOL. rv. 


98 [November 10, 1800.] 


[Conducted by 

wished you a more suitable companion. Indeed, 
after what I had heard from his excellency about 
you, I was terrified at the thought of my own 

" And pray what did he say of me ?" asked I, 
in a flutter of delight. 

" Are you very fond of flattery ?" 

" Immensely !" 

" Is it not possible that praise of you 
could be so exaggerated as to make you feel 
ashamed ?" 

" I should say, perfectly impossible ; that is, 
to a mind regulated as mine over-elation could 
never happen. Tell me, therefore, what he 

" I can't remember one half of it ; he re- 
marked how few men in the career I conclude 
he meant diplomacy could compare with you ; 
that you had such just views about the state of 
Europe, such an accurate appreciation of public 
men. I can't say how many opportunities you 
mustn't have had, and what valuable uses you 
have not put them to. In a word, I felt that I 
was about to travel with a great statesman and 
a consummate man of the world, and was terri- 
fied accordingly." 

" And now that the delusion is dispelled, how 
do you feel ?" 

" But is it dispelled ? Am I not shocked with 
my own temerity in daring to talk thus lightly 
with one so learned ?" 

" If so," said I, " you conceal your embar- 
rassment wonderfully." 

And then we both laughed, but I am not quite 
sure it was at the same joke. 

" Do you know where you are going ?" said 
I, taking out a travelling map as a means of 
diverting our conversation into some higher 

" Not in the least." 

"Nor care?" 

" Nor care." 

" Well, I must say, it is a most independent 
frame of mind. Perhaps you could extend this 
fine philosophy, and add, ' Nor with whom !' " 

I was not at all conscious of what an imper- 
tinence I had uttered till it was out ; nor, in- 
deed, even then, till I remarked that her cheek 
had become scarlet, and her eyes double as dark 
as their wont. 

" Yes," said she, " there is one condition for 
which I should certainly stipulate not to travel 
with any one who could needlessly offend me." 

I could have cried with shame ; I could have 
held my hand in the flame of a fire to expiate 
my rude speech. And so I told her ; while I 
assured her at the same time, with marvellous 
consistency, that it was not rude at all ; that it 
was entirely misconception on her part ; that 
nous autres diplomates Heaven forgive me the 
lying assumption ! had a way of saying little 
smartnesses that don't mean much; that we 
often made our coin ring on the table, though it 
turned out bad money when it came to be looked 
at ; that Talleyrand did it, and Walewsky did 
it, and I did it we all did it ! 

Now, there was one most unlucky feature in 

all this. It was only a few minutes before this 
passage occurred, that I said to myself, " Potts, 
here is one whose frank, fresh, generous nature 
claims all your respect and devotion. No non- 
sense of your being this, that, and t'other here. 
Be truthful and be honest ; neither pretend to 
be man of fortune nor man of fashion ; own fairly 
to her by what chance you adventured upon this 
strange life ; tell her, in a word, you are the son 
of Potts Potts, the 'pothecary and neither a 
hero nor a plenipotentiary !" 

I have no doubt, most amiable of readers, that 
nothing can seem possibly more easy than to 
have done all this. You deem it the natural 
and the ordinary course ; just as, for instance, a 
merchant in good credit and repute would feel 
no repugnance to calling all his creditors to- 
gether to inspect his books, and see that, though 
apparently solvent, he was, in truth, utterly bank- 
rupt. And yet there is some difficulty in doing 
this. Does not the law of England expressly 
declare that no man need criminate himself? 
Who accuses you, then, Potts? What is the 
charge against you ? And then I bethought me 
of the worthy old alderman, who, on learning 
that Hobinson Crusoe was a fiction, exclaimed, 
" It may be so ; but I have lost the greatest 
pleasure of my life in hearing it." What a pro- 
found philosophy was there in that simple 
avowal ! With what illusions are we not cheered 
on through life; how unreal the joys that 
delight and the triumphs that elate us ! for we 
are all hypochondriacs, and are as often cured 
with bread pills as with bold remedies. " Yes," 
thought I, " this young girl is happy in the 
thought that her companion is a person of rank, 
station, and influence; she feels a sort of self- 
elation in being associated with one endowed 
with all worldly advantages. Shall I rob her of 
this illusion? Shall I rudely deprive her of 
what imparts a charm to her existence, and 
gives a sort of romantic interest to her daily 
life? Harsh and needless would be the 
cruelty !" 

While I thus argued with myself, sue had 
opened her guide-book, and was eagerly reading 
away about the road we were travelling. "We 
are to halt at Bomerstein, are we not ?" asked 

" Yes," said I, " we rest there for the night. 
It is one of those little villages of which a 
German writer has given us a striking pic- 

" Auerstadt," broke she in. 

"So you have read him ? You read German ?" 

"Yes, tolerably; that is, well enough for 
Schiller and Uhland, but not well enough for 
Jean Paul and Goethe." 

" Never mind ; trust me for a guide, you shall 
now venture upon both." 

" But how will you be able to give up time 
valuable as yours to such teachings ? Would it 
be fair of me, besides, to steal hours that ought 
to be devoted to your country ?" 

Though I had not the slightest imaginable 
ground to suspect any secret sarcasm in this 
speech, my guilty conscience made me feel it as 

Chtrle* Dickens.] 


10, 1040.] 99 

i-fcct torture. " She knows me," thought I, 
" uiul this sneer at njy pretended importance is 
intended to overwhelm me." 

" As to my country's claims," said I, haughtily, 

" I make light of them. All that I have seen 

of life onlv shows me the shallowuess of what 

led the public service. I am resolved to 

leave it, and for ever." 

" And for what ?" 

" A life of retirement obscurity if you will." 

" It is what I should do if I were a man." 

" Yes. I have often reflected over the delight 
I have felt in walking through some man's 
demesne, revelling in the enjoyment of its leafy 
solitude, its dreary shade, its sunlit vistas, 
und 1 have thought, ' If all these things, not one 
of which are mine, can bring such pleasure to 
m\ heart, why should I not adopt the same phi- 
losophy in life, and be satisfied with enjoying 
without possessing? A very humble lot would 
suffice for one, notliing but great success could 
achieve the other.' " 

" What becomes, then, of that great stimulus 
to good they call labour ?" 

" Oh, I should labour too. I'd work at what- 
ever I was equal to. I'd sew, and knit, and till 
my garden, and be as useful as possible." 

" And I would write," said I, enthusiastically, 
as though I were plotting out my share in this 
garden of Eden. " I would write all sorts of 
things : reviews, and histories, and stories, and 
short poems, and, last of all, the Confessions of 
Algernon Sydney Potts." 

" Oh, what a shocking title ! How could 
such names have met together ? That shocking 
epithet Potts would vulgarise it all ?" 

"I really cannot agree with you," said I, 

Without," continued she, "you meant it 
for a sort of quiz ; and that Potts was to be a 
creature of absurdity and folly, a pretender and 
a snob." 

I felt as if I was choking with passion ; but I 
tried to laugh, and say, " Yes, of course." 

" That would be good fun enough," went she 
on. " I'd like, if I could, to contribute to that. 
You should invent the situations, and leave me 
occasionally to supply the reflective part." 

" It would be cliarming, quite delightful." 

" Shall we do it, then ? Let us try it, by aU 
means. "We might begin by imagining Potts in 
search of this, that, or t'other love, happiness, 
solitude, climate, scenery, anything, in short. 
Let us fancy him on a journey, try and per- 
sonate him, that would be the real way. Do 
you, for instance, be Potts, and I'll be his sister 
Susan. It will be the best fun in the world, as 
we go along, to see everything, note everything, 
and discuss everything rottswise." 

"It would be too ridiculous, too absurd," 
said I, sick with anger. 

" Not a bit ; we are travelling with our old 
grandmother, we are making the tour of Europe, 
and keeping our journal. Every evening we 
compare notes of what we have seen. Pray do 
it ; I'm quite \vild to try it." 

"Really," said I, gravely, "it is a sort of 
trifling I should find it very difficult to descend 
to. 1 see no reason, besides, to associate the 
name of Potts with what you are pleased to 
call snobbery !" 

" Could you help it ? Could you, with all the 
best will in the world, make Potts a man of 
distinction? Wouldn't he, in spite of you, 
be low, vulgar, inquisitive, ana obtrusive ? 
Wouldn't you find him thrusting himself for- 
ward, twenty times a day, into positions he had 
no right to ? Wouldn't the creature be a butt, 
and a dupe " 

" Shall I own," burst I in, "that it gives me 
no exalted idea of your taste if I find that you 
select for ridicule a person on the mere show- 
ing that his name is a monosyllable ? And, once 
for all, I repudiate all share in the scheme, and 
beg that I may not hear more of it." 

I turned away as I said this. She resumed 
her book, and we spoke no more to each other 
till we reached our halting-place for the night. 


I AM forced to the confession, Mrs. Keats 
was not what is popularly called an agreeable 
old lady. She spoke seldom, she smiled never, 
and she had a way of looking at you, a sort 
of cold astonishment, seeming to say, " How is 
this ? explain yourself," tliat kept me in a per- 
petual terror. 

My morning's tiff with Miss Herbert had 
neither been condoned nor expiated when we 
sat down to dinner, as stiff a party of three as 
can well be imagined : scarcely a word was in- 
terchanged as we ate. 

" If you drink wine, sir, pray order it," said 
Mrs. Keats to me, in a voice that might have 
suited an invitation to prussic acid. 

"This little wine of the country is very plea- 
sant, madam," said I, courteously, " and I can 
even venture to recommend it." 

" Not to me, sir. I drink water." 

" Perhaps Miss Herbert will allow me ?" 

" Excuse me, I also drink water." 

After a very dreary and painful pause, I dared 
to express a faint hope that Mrs. Keats had not 
been fatigued by the day's journey. 

She looked at me for a second or two before 
replying, and then said : " I am really not aware, 
sir, that I have manifested any such signs of 
weariness as would warrant your inquiry. If I 
should have, however " 

" Oh, I beg yon will pardon me, madam," 
broke I in, apologetically ; " my question was 
not meant for more than a mere ordinary po- 
liteness, a matter-of-course expression of my 

" It will save us both some trouble in future, 
sir, if I remark that I am no friend to matter- 
of-course civilities, and never reply to them." 

I felt as though my head and face had been 
passed across the open door of a blast furnace. 
I was in a perfect flame, and dared not raise my 
eyes from my plate. 

" The waiter is asking if you will take coffee, 

100 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

sir," said the inexorable old lady to me, as I sat 
almost stunned and stupid. 

" Yes with brandy a full glass of brandy 
in it," cried I, in the half-despair of one who 
knew not how to rally himself. 

" I think we may retire, Miss H.," said Mrs. 
Keats, rising with a severe dignity that seemed 
to say, " We are not bound to assist at an orgie." 
And with a stern stare and a defiant little bow 
she moved towards the door. I was so awe- 
struck, that I never moved from my place, but 
stood resting my hand on my chair, till she said, 
" Do you mean to open the door, sir, or am I to 
do it for myself ?" 

I sprang forward at once, and flung it wide, 
my face all scarlet with shame. 

' She passed out, and Miss Herbert followed 
her. Her dress, however, catching in the door- 
way, she turned back to extricate it ; I seized 
the moment to stoop down and say, " Do let me 
see you for one moment, this evening one only 

She shook her head in silent negative, and 
went away. 

I sat down at the table, and filled myself a 
large goblet of wine: I drank it off, and re- 
plenished it. It was only this morning, a few 
brief hours ago, and I would not have changed 
fortunes with the Emperor of France. Life 
seemed to open before me like some beautiful 
alley in a garden, with a glorious vista in the 
distance. I would not have bartered the place in 
that cabriolet for the proudest throne in Europe. 
She was there beside me, listening in rapt at- 
tention, as I discoursed voyages, travels, me- 
moirs, poetry, and personal adventures. With 
every changeful expression of lovely sympathy 
did she follow me through all. I was a hero to 
us both, myself as much captivated as she was ; 
and now the brief drama was over, the lights 
were put out, and the theatre closed! How 
had I destroyed this golden delusion why had 
I quarrelled with her, and for what ? For a 
certain Potts, a creature who, in reality, had no 
existence ! "For who is Potts?" said I. " Potts is 
no more a ' substance' than Caleb Williams or 
Peregrine Pickle ; Potts is the lay figure, that 
the artist dresses in any costume he requires a 
Hanchero to-day, a Railway Director to-morrow. 
What an absurdity in the importance we lend to 
mere names ! Here, for instance, I take the label 
off the port and I hang it round the neck of the 
claret decanter : have I changed the quality of 
the vintage? have I brought Bordeaux to the 
meridian of Oporto ? Not a bit of it. And yet 
a man is to be more the victim of an accident 
than a bottle of wine, and his intrinsic quali- 
ties strength, flavour, and richness are not 
to be tested, but simply implied from the label 
round his neck ! How narrow-minded, after all, 
of her, who ought to have known better ! It is 
thus, however, we educate our women; this is 
part and parcel of the false system by which we 
t'ancy we make them companionable. ' The North 
American Indians are far in advance of us in 
all this : they assign them their proper places and 
fitting duties ; they feel that, in this lite of ours, 

order and happiness depend on the due distri- 
bution of burdens, and the Snapping Alligator 
never feels his squaw more truly his help- 
mate that when she is skinning eels for his 

How I hated that old woman ! I don't think 
I ever detested a human creature so much as 
that. I have often speculated as to whether 
venomous reptiles have any gratification im- 
parted to them when they inflict a poisonous 
wound. Is the mosquito the happier of having 
stung one's nose ? And, in the same spirit, I should 
like to know, do the disagreeable people of this 
world sleep the better from the consciousness of 
having offended us ? Is there that great enno- 
bling sense of a mission fulfilled for every cheek 
they set on fire and every heart they depress ? 
and do they quench hope and extinguish ambi- 
tion with the same zeal that the Sun or the 
Phoenix put out a fire ? 

" ' If you drink wine, sir, pray order it,' " said 
I, mimicking her imperious tone. "Yes, ma- 
dam, I do drink wine, and I mean to order it, 
and liberally. I travel at the expense of that 
noble old paymaster who only wags his tail the 
more the more he has to pay the British Lion. 
I go down in the extraordinaries. I'm on what 
is called a special service. ' Keep an account of 
your expenses, Paynter!' Contound his inso- 
lence, he would say ' Paynter.' By the way, I 
have never looked how he calls me in my pass- 
port. I'm curious to see if I be Paynter 
there." I had left the bag containing this and my 
money in my room, and I rang the bell, and told 
the waiter to fetch it. 

The passport set forth in due terms all the 
dignities, honours, and decorations of the great 
man who granted it, and who bespoke for the 
little man who travelled by it, all aid and assist- 
ance possible, and to let him pass freely, &c. 
"Mr. Ponto British subject." "'Pontp!' 
What an outrage ! This comes of a man making 
his maitre d'hotel his secretary. That stupid 
French flunkey has converted me into a water 
dog. This may explain a good deal of the old lady's 
rudeness ; how could she be expected to be 
even ordinarily civil to a man called Ponto ? 
She'd say at once, ' His father was an Italian, 
and of course a courier, or a valet ; or he was a 
foundling, and called after a favourite spaniel.' 
I'll rectify this without loss of time. If she 
has not the tact to discover the man of educa- 
tion and breeding by the qualities he displays in 
intercourse, she shall be brought to admit them 
by the demands of his self-respect." 

I opened my writing-desk and wrote just two 
lines a polite request for a few moments of 
interview, signed " A. S. Pottinger." I wrote 
the name in a fine text hand, as though to say, 
"No more blunders, madam, this is large as 

" Take this to your mistress, Francois," said 
I to the courier. 

" Gone to bed, sir." 

" Gone to bed ! why, it's only eight o'clock." 

A shrug and a smile were all he replied. 

" And Miss Herbert can I speak to her?" 

Clirle Dickon*. J 


nbwlO. 1880.] 101 

"Fear not, sir; she went to her room, and 
told Clementina not to disturb her." 

" It is of consequence, however, that 1 should 
see her. I want to speak of our arrangements 
for to-morrow the hour we are to start " 

" ( )h ! but we arc to stop here over to-mor- 
row I thought monsieur knew that," said tin- 
fellow, with the insolent grin of a menial at 
knowing more than his betters. 

" Oh, to be sure we are," said I, laughingly, 
and affecting to have suddenly remembered it. 
" I forgot all about it, Francois ; you are quite 
right. Take a glass of wine, Frau9ois or take 
the boi tic with vou, that's better." And I handed 
him a flask of Hooheimar of eight florins, right 
glad to get rid of his presence and escape further 
scrutiny from his prying glances. 

How relieved I felt wlien the fellow closed 
the door after him and left me to " blow off the 
steam" of my indignation all alone ! And was I 
not indignant ? Only to fancy this insolent old 
woman giving her orders without so much as 
condescending to communicate with me ! I am 
left to learn her whim by a mere accident, or not 
learn it at all, and exhibit myself ready to de- 
part at the inn door, and then hear, for the first 
time, that I may unpack again. 

This was unquestionably a studied rudeness, 
and demanded an equally studied reprisal. She 
means to discredit my station and disparage my 
influence : how shall I reply to her r A vast 
variety of expedients offered themselves to my 
mind : I could go off, leaving a fearful letter 
behind me a document that would cut her to 
the very soul with the sarcastic bitterness of its 
tone ; but could I leave without a reconciliation 
with Miss Herbert without the fond hope of 
our meeting as friends. I meant a great deal 
more, though I wouldn't trust myself to say so. 
Besides, were I to go away, there were financial 
considerations to be entertained. I could not, 
of course, carry off that crimson bag with its 
gold and silver contents, and yet it was very 
hard to tear myself from such a treasure. 

I say it under correction, for I have never 
been rich, and, consequently, never in the posi- 
tion to assert it positively, but I declare my 
firm conviction to be that no man has ever 
tasted the unbounded pleasure of a careless 
liberality- on a journey who has not travelled at 
some other person's expense. Be as wealthy as 
you like, let your portmanteau be stuffed full of 
circular notes, ana there will still be present, at 
moments of payment the thought, "Ir I do not 
suffer myself to be cheated, here, I shall have so 
much the more to squander, tbere." But, draw- 
ing from the bag of another, no such mean re- 
flection obtrudes. You might as well defraud 
your lungs of a long inspiration out of the fear 
of taking more than your share of the atmo- 
sphere. There is enough, and will be enough 
there when you are dust and ashes. 

In fact, if I had on one side the " three 
courses" of the great statesman, I had on the 
other full thirty reasons against each, and, 
therefore, I resolved to suspend action and do 
nothing. And let me here passingly remark 

that, much as we hear every day about the 
merits of promptitude and quick-wittedness, 
in nine cases out of ten in life, I'd rather "give 
the move than take it." The waiting policy is 
a rare one ; it is the secret of success in love, 
and of victory in an equity court. And so I 
determined I'd wait and see what should come 
of it ; I appealed to myself thus : " Potts, you 
are eminently a man of the*world, one who ac- 
cepts life as it is, with all its crosses and un- 
toward incidents ; who knows well that he must 
play bad cards even oftener than good ones. No 
impatience, therefore, no rashness ; give at least 
twenty-four hours' thought to any important de- 
cision, and let a night's sleep intervene between 
your first conception of a plan and its adoption." 
Oh, if the people who are fretting themselves 
about what is to happen this day ten years, 
would only remember what a long time it is 
that is, counting by the number of events that 
will occur between this and to-morrow not to 
say what incidents are happening at the anti- 
podes that will yet bring joy or sorrow to their 
hearts they would keep more of their sym- 
pathies for present use, and perhaps be the hap- 
pier for the doing so. 


AN immense yellow placard, distributed with 
the profusest liberality over the walls, dead and 
living, of Genoa, informs the public that, on this 
very evening, the 2nd of October, the flying 
steamer, Veloce, departs for Naples, touching 
for some brief moments at Leghorn. Provided 
that instant application be made, room may be 
discovered for two or three more passengers, 
whose fare (prepaid at the office) will be held 
forfeited, should the payers not present them- 
selves on board by nine o'clock in the evening, 
at latest to which hour the vessel's departure 
has been postponed, in deference to the con- 
venience of parties arriving from Turin. 

There was an air of headlong haste about the 
placards themselves, which hung half-secured 
to the walls, fluttering like quarantine flags. 
And this, added to the tone of arrogant conde- 
scension employed in the announcement, really 
conveyed an impression that it would be a con- 
siderable privilege, if not an actual liberty, to 
take passage in such a vessel. Further, the dis- 
covery that the rate of fares was one-fourth higher 
than common, conjured up visions of luxurious 
feasting, and berths of down, affording, on the 
whole, a most desirable opportunity of seeing 
what Naples and Garibaldi were doing. Where 
is the office ? Strada Mercolata. Thither, with 
all speed ! 

To my eager questioning, a cool and tranquil 
clerk responded that it would have become me to 
apply earlier. 

1 submitted that the announcement was only 
made to-day. 

" Pardon. It has been for several days a sub- 
ject of satisfactory remark in Genoa, that the 
Veloce would shortly commence running on this 

102 [November 10, 186.] 


[Conducted by 

line, and, as may easily be conceived, every berth 

Yet, stay it is possible there is one." 

(Murmured conference with another clerk.) 
"Just so. Happily, signer, one place is of 
doubtful occupancy. If the signor is willing 
to become the purchaser of that doubt, all may 
be well." 

I did so almost gratefully did so and 
with lighter heart Quitted the office ; a third 
clerk who must have been eavesdropping, so 
completely had he, without being visible, mas- 
tered the business, overtook me. 

" If the signor desire to be very comfortable, 
and at the same time to make sure, I would re- 
commend him to engage the captain's cabin," 
said the clerk. 

"The captain's cabin! Surely the highly- 
priced accommodations of the Veloce might 
suffice. But, then, the certainty let us see. 
At what price ?" 

" Twelve francs more." 

Moderate enough. The captain was, no doubt, 
a hardy seaman, besides being either a most 
obliging person or else a most disinterested ser- 
vant of the company. I accepted his offer and 
his cabin, and at eight o'clock (to be on the safe 
side), step into a boat at the quay. 

The boatmen paddled off heading, however, 
this way and that, with an indecision so foreign 
to their habits as to make me apprehensive 
that they might after all bring me alongside too 
late until, after an apparently anxious consul- 
tation, and much eager scanning of the ships in 
harbour, one of ftiem uttered a satisfied snort. 
He resumed his oar, and we presently shot be- 
tween two large merchant vessels, and found 
ourselves alongside a black object about the size 
of a Lambeth lighter, over whose bulwark leaned 
three sooty heads, the lips belonging to which 
heads crooned a melancholy song. 

Could this be the Veloce ? The steward as- 
serted it as a fact ; and the Veloce, with a soft 
simmer from her steam-pipe as in corroboration, 
announced herself as preparing for the voyage. 
The tiny deck was richly carpeted with coal- 
dust. The saloon contained, in all, twelve 
berths : the remaining space being entirely oc- 
cupied by a small table, upon which the passen- 
gers sat, washed, smoked, and dined. As for 
the luggage, it descended into the hold, which 
was likewise the coal-bunk. The fragment of 
a dingy sail rather hinted at than constituted a 
limit at which coal ended and baggage began. 

I was personally all right, for had I not 
the captain's own cabin ; solitude, smokeless- 
ness, and the privilege of opening at pleasure a 
window as big as a piastre ? Inquiring for this 
refuge, the steward looked up and down the 
deck, as though it might be lying about some- 
where, and finally conducted me to a sort of 
hencoop, apparently an excrescence from the 
paddle-box : apologising for its being for the mo- 
ment occupied by the captain's portfolio and a 
pair of sea-boots. 

An apartment with the floor in the form of an 
inverted cone is not comfortable, and the diffi- 
culty of scrambling into the one berth was in- 

creased by there being no sort of foothold on 
the way. After some cogitation as to how the 
captain himself achieved it, I could perceive but 
one feasible method, and tried it. This was to 
get both feet on the handle of the door, cling 
firmly to the brass curtain-rod of the berth, 
throw the body gradually back till it became 
nearly horizontal, draw one leg into the bed- 
place, then the other, and finish with one bold 

The public, for whose especial convenience 
the Veloce had deferred her departure till nine 
o'clock, evinced the grossest ingratitude ; for, 
though we waited till past midnight, not a soul 
appeared. I was lapsing into slumber when 
a sensation as of being collared by an angry 
Titan, shaken violently, and dashed upon the 
earth, announced that the huge paddles of the 
Veloce were in motion directly under my ear. 
Her engines were in truth of great power, and 
the vibration throughout the little vessel was 
fearful ; still it was something to be at length 
under weigh ; and the stunning effect of a severe 
contusion on the eye, caught in sneezing, con- 
tributed to produce an insensibility which did 
duty for sleep. 

At Leghorn, which we reached in less than 
ten hours, a small body of volunteers (a hun- 
dred, I think) presented themselves, requiring 
passage to Naples. Although the baggage of 
these gallant fellows, comprised in one small 
box, was not alarming, the captain was obliged 
to own that, unless one-half of the volunteers 
would consent to be lowered down among the 
luggage and the coals, he could not find room. 

As well as I remember for this voyage was 
little other than a coaly dream, punctuated with 
thumps on the head nothing occurred to vary 
the monotony, until, on the third morning, when 
off Gaeta, a large armed steamer stood out, hold- 
ing a course to cut us off. There was considerable 
excitement among the Italian passengers, which 
augmented as the stranger ran up the Nea- 
politan flag. We hoisted an article about the 
size of a slieet of writing-paper, whose original 
three colours had each settled into a different 
shade of brown. This hieroglyphic appeared to 
satisfy our inquisitive friend, for, after closing 
near enough to show that she was of Spanish 
build, she altered her course, and returned to 
Gaeta. Perhaps, it was well we did not embark 
the gallant volunteers. 

Vesuvius was yet glowing crimson in the- 
early twilight, when we took boat, and, un- 
questioned as to passport or baggage (happy 
change !), rushed away to our hotel. 

"What news, what news, O sleepy porter 
(for there is no one astir but thee) ? Who's 
where ? How's everything ? Speak, speak !" 

The porter intimated that there was nothing of 
moment no especial victory no marked revo- 
lutionnot many changes of ministry nothing, 
in short that is, since Monday, the great affair. 

"Great affair? What?" 

" Has not the signor heard ? Ah, no, from 
Genoa ! Yes, a great battle a true Solferino 
business on Monday before Capua. Six 

ChiuU-t Dlokou.] 


tXam&tr 10, I860.] 103 

thousand prisoners and guns how many ! 
Colonel Dunne wounded in number fcty-t\vo. 

" Wounded P Where?" 

" Si, signer up-stairs in number forty-two. 
Garibaldi was everywhere fought in three 
places at once and saved the battle. Column 
lost its way," &c. &o. 

Two hours later, I was in possession of 
more authentic particulars of this second battle 
on the Volturno ; knew also that the ex-king, 
still held Capua and Gaeta, and showed no 
symptom of anything but a dogged resolution 
to fight to the last. 

While gleaning information in different quar- 
ters, a familiar voice greeted me, and a certain 
colonel, in Garibaldian attire, strode across the 
street. He was formerly in the Indian cavnlry, 
recently commandant of Garibaldi's depot at 
Palermo, and was now attached to the general's 
staff in that character of "generally useful" 
which seems to indicate the duties of three- 
fourths of the officers of this remarkable army. 
He held in his hand a coarse haversack, which 
contained a book, a boot-jack, and an immense 
sausage of true Bologna manufacture, weigh- 
ing about four pounds. Of the second of these 
articles the colonel seemed especially proud. 

" I venture to say," he observed, flourishing 
it in the street, with a little ostentation, " there's 
not a man in the army, from the general down- 
wards, that possesses such a thing ; but it saves 
your boots immensely, in getting them off when 
wet, without leaving four-fifths of the bcot be- 
hind. Come out and see the fun. I can give 
you capital quarters at Caserta, but there's no- 
thing to eat. This splendid fellow" (swinging 
the sausage) " was to last me four days." 

I promised to bring wherewithal to amend 
the supper, and, having hastily accomplished all 
I had to do in Naples, drove out with my friend 
to Caserta. 

The syndic had assigned to him a very roomy 
residence, near the palace : the property of a 
gentleman who was supposed to hold in his pos- 
session forty thousand scudi of the royal trea- 
sure, and who, declining to give them up for the 
present national exigency, had been walked off 
to prison. There was by no means a superfluity 
of furniture (one sofa, with its spine fracturea, 
two chairs, and a form, comprised the inven- 
tory), and of the domestics only two remained 
to partake the changed fortunes of the mansion. 
These were, Giuseppe, the steward, aged seventy, 
and a lady sufficiently stricken in years to have 
easily been his grandmother. She was totally deaf, 
and, when accosted, uttered a peculiar shriek, 
like a feeble war-whoop, whose meaning none 
but Giuseppe could divine, nor he distinctly. 

We were joined at supper by an English 
gentleman, who had just quitted the head- 
quarters, established in the palace, and brought 
us information that a battle was expected 
on the morrow. It was understood that Gari- 
baldi would endeavour to throw a bridge oi 
boats over the Volturno, near St. Angelo, and 
as this little arrangement would undoubtedly be 
opposed by the enemy, who kept jealous watch 

n the river, it was far from improbable that a 
eneral action might ensue. Such tidings gave 
zest to the Falernian we had brought with us, 
along with the gigantic sausage and sister deli- 

Both the colonel and the English gentleman 
lad been present in the battle of Monday, the 
irst of October ; the former in his " generally 
useful" capacity; the latter as a simple amateur. 

"It was, I give you my honour," said the 
colonel, "a precious near thing. The fellows had 
nit on red frocks, and rushed upon our out* 
aosts, singing out ' Viva Garibaldi !' It so 
Bothered the Sicilians that they ran in at once, 
scarcely giving us time to get under arms. At 
one time, things looked very shaky. Garibaldi 
got more excited than is habitual with him, was 
evidently uneasy, and rushed about from point 
;o point, from battery to battery, on that little 
umping Arab of his, as though he knew by in- 
spiration where he was most needed in person. 
m fact, he saved the battle. It would have 
jeen lost but for him. For him and our friend 
icre," concluded our host, gravely. 

" At least, I did not run away," said the mo- 
dest English gentleman. 

" I did," said the colonel, " I bolted. We all 
bolted. We were advancing through the only 
piece of open ground, towards an almond ana 
mulberry grove, when out burst a couple of 
hundred cavalry. Away went our boys, helter- 
skelter, as hard as they could go. It was the 
best thing they could do. There was no time 
to form square, even if they tad ever heard of 
such a mancauvre. It was some hundred yards 
to the nearest shelter, a little ridge, and then a 
thickish copse. The cavalry followed, and cut 
down fifteen or twenty. As we neared the ridge, 
we officers began to call out, " Fire ! fire ! Stand, 
and give fire !" and, to do the lads justice, once 
on the ridge, they rallied fast enough. The cavalry 
hesitated Neapolitan cavalry always hesitate 
as if they wanted orders. The ridge was no- 
thing. An English hunter would have popped 
over without looking at it, but the leader dis- 
mounted to see what was behind, and that 
settled the matter. A few shots sent them 
off. But as for our friend here," continued 
the colonel, " since he will not tell you what 
he did, I will. There has been some sneer- 
ing about ' amateurs' such, at least, as do not 
swagger about in picturesque costumes, dining 
at tables d'h&te, and talking about ' our' lines, 
' our' batteries, &c. and who might as well be 
in Norfolk Island for any service they are likely 
to render. Here is a gentleman in 'a black coat 
and a very handsome summer waistcoat, who 
rendered Italy an essential service in the per- 
son of one of her most intrepid generals during 
an hour of incessant danger. He was poking 
about, sir, close to the Capua Gate at Santa 
Maria that being at the time the most pro- 
mising spot in the whole field for a ball through 
the body when General Milwitz, who com- 
manded there, had his horse killed, and received 
a contusion in the foot. Our friend here, 
seeing the general in difficulties, went up and 

104 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

offered the support of his arm, which the ge- 
neral accepted, and retained for an hour, under 
a hot fire. And now, gentlemen, T recommend 
you to go to bed. We must start at four." 

It was scarcely wortli while to undress. We 
threw ourselves on some extempore beds ; the 
colonel and I in one large vaulted chamber, our 
friend in another. I had very little inclination 
to sleep. Fancy perpetually conjured up the 
sound of heavy guns, and every distant move- 
ment of the town seemed to connect itself with 
the impending battle. The colonel (to the man- 
ner born) slumbered like a happy child. 

About two o'clock I was aroused from an in- 
cipient doze by an alarmed voice that of 
our friend from the outer room ejaculating, 

" Colonel ! colonel ! Hallo !" 

The colonel was on his feet in a second, instinc- 
tively snatching at his sword, and hurried out. 
There was an anxious murmur, then : 

" Good Heaven !" said the colonel's voice, 
"it cannot be. It is inconceivable !" 

A night surprise? the army annihilated? 
Garibaldi slain ? Italy again at the foot of her 
tyrant ? What could have happened ? 

The colonel returned with an agitated step. 
He set down the lamp, and announced : 

" The cat has eaten the chicken, and there's 
nothing left for breakfast !" 

A cup of coffee, and the tip of a tongue which 
the cat had considerately spared, sufficed us, 
however, and by half-past four we were on our 
way towards St. Angelo, the scene of expected 
action. It was a lovely tranquil morning, and 
the cloud-wreaths on the mountains rolled slowly 
up, as though raising the curtain upon the ma- 
jestic drama we had long desired to witness. In 
Caserta itself, lately crowded, scarcely a sol- 
dier was to be seen. Two companies of Pied- 
moiitese occupied the square. All besides had 
been pushed on to the front. Things looked 

As we passed over the ground between Caserta 
and Santa Maria, described in all the newspapers 
as having been the scene of such panic and con- 
fusion on the eighteenth, the colonel said : 

" All I know is, that a friend of mine dined 
that day, in charge of three ladies, on the top 
of the ancient amphitheatre, where they had 
a tolerable view of all that passed. My friend 
was perfectly aware of the state of matters, 
and saw no reason for either alarm or haste. 
They finished their dinner, and returned to 
Caserta at their leisure. If the eminent bar- 
rister expected to find, in the rough-and-ready 
heroes of Milazzo and Calabria, the drill and 
discipline of a Guards' parade, he was naturally 
disappointed. As some apology for their short- 
comings in formation, these fellows have shown 
that no regular troops in Europe are fonder of 
the bayonet, or more apt, when once launched, 
to charge home." 

At Santa Maria, the colonel received orders to 
visit the outposts on the centre and left ; and, 
farther, to ascertain, as minutely as possible, the 
height of the walls and depth of the ditch of 
Capua. How this latter little commission was 

to be effected was a puzzle to us civilians, but 
the colonel took it so much as a matter of course, 
that we felt but little anxiety for his personal 
safety; certainly, before the evening, he had, 
by some mysterious means, possessed himself 
of every particular. 

Although heavy guns were heard at intervals 
from the direction of St. Angelo, we had ascer- 
tained by this time that there was to be no battle 
to-day. A tour of the outposts was the next 
best thing, as it would make us well acquainted 
with the ground. 

The first we visited was established on the 
railway running into Capua, whose walls, and 
the white buildings rising within, were clearly 
distinguishable at something less than a mile. 
This post had been the scene of a painful 
accident on the previous night, an engine and 
two carriages having started off without a 
driver, and dashed over a party of nine soldiers 
who were sleeping on the rail. One man had 
been lying with his head on a comrade's breast. 
These two were killed on the spot, and broad 
lines of blood upon the sand-bags which made 
their bed almost marked the attitude in which 
the poor fellows lay. The remaining seven were 
fearfully injured : two, mortally. But, bad as this 
was, the mishap must have been infinitely greater 
but for a little parapet of sand-bags, placed in a 
bold curve across the line, which threw the en- 
gine off the rail and saved the entire picket 
three hundred men, who were stretched on the 
rail but a few paces beyond. 

Passing our sentries, we walked on till within 
three-quarters of a mile of the town, when pru- 
dence whispered " Return." This railway formed 
nearly the left of Garibaldi's position : the thickly 
wooded country beyond being occupied in con- 
siderable force by the enemy, whose patrols 
could be seen moving among the trees. 

About this time, the firing towards St. Angelo 
became somewhat brisker. It is not easy, at 
first, for the civil mind to accept the assurance 
that four or five heavy guns a minute mean 
" nothing particular," and we were not sorry 
when the course of the colonel's duties led us 
fairly in that direction. 

The post was at a large farm-chateau, named 
Delia Corte, divided only by the high road from 
the fine bold height of St. Angelo. Here were 
the three batteries whose deep voices we had 
heard since morning one on the road itself, one 
on the crest of the hill, and another half way 
down. To these the enemy replied with a like 
number, and so effectually as to have rendered 
it necessary, just before our arrival, to withdraw 
the guns from the battery on the hill-side. 

The chateau was large and comfortable, and, 
though certain orifices, which were neither doors 
nor windows, reminded us that we were not be- 
yond range, there was very good cover. Here 
we found several friends : among others Captain 
Hoffman, an excellent engineer officer, and in 
high favour with the general. He showed us 
portions of the bridge that was to have plaved- 
so prominent a part in the proceedings of the 
day. But the bridge had broken down. One 

Chirlei UlckentO 


[Xof ember 10, two.] 105 

of the hundred and fifty rustics who had been 
engaged to assist in its construction had been 
struck by a fragment of n shell, which carried 
:i\v;iy his jaw. T his ghastly wound, coupled with 
some minor hurts that had been received, created 
such a panic, that the entire body, except four, 
had disappeared. And little wonder. They were 
royalists, and their wages five farthings a day. 

( )ur friend proposed to ascend the hill and have 
a look at Capua and the positions. The enemy 
had relaxed their efforts, and now fired, witli the 
most obliging regularity, every quarter of an 
hour. You had only to glance at your watch, and 
saunter under the most eligible cover. They 
kept, however, a vigilant eye upon the hill, and 
seemed ready to fire upon a crow, if it should 
settle there. Ten people had been hit yester- 
day. The oflicer in command would not advise 
us to ascend. 

The opportunity, however, was too tempting. 
It was intensely hot. We had to climb the 
whole distance, and it took us three-quarters of 
an hour to reach the top, during which nine shells 
came over us, but too high and wide to afford 
us even the excitement of danger. The view 
was magnificent, comprising the whole of our 
lines and those of the enemy, divided by the 
Volturno a river in its general character, at 
this place, not unlike the Thames at Henley and 
Capua, with its frowning walls, its domes and 
towers, green quiet meadows, and woods of al- 
mond and mulberry, so dense and widely spread 
as almost to conceal the armies that lay below. 

A little to the right of St. Angelo rises 
another peak St. Michael! and seeing a 
small group of persons assembled there, we 
went on. Scarcely had we ascended the height, 
when Garibaldi himself appeared. He had 
ridden half-way up the mountain path, and, 
leaving his horses under cover, came up on foot 
to his favourite look-out station. He was accom- 
panied by Cosenz (minister of war), Medici, 
Bixio, Colonel De Abna (an American engineer 
officer who had recently joined), and three or 
four others. The hero wore his usual red frock, 
with a beautiful gold chain, worn like a lady's, 
a rich silk handkerchief over his shoulders, 
hanging far down the back, and, in place of his 
well-known hat, one of Spanish build turned 
up all round. He looked worn and pale, and 
also a little out of humour. It would seem 
that some application he did not relish, had been 
to to him ; in continuance of a conversa- 
tion he had been holding with one of his staff, 
he said, in his clear, magnificent tones : 

" It is one of the disgraces (disgrazie) of 
Italy, that she has too many commanders. If I 
had but three officers, I should escape half the 
difficulties with which 1 have to contend. 
Surely, it is as honourable to fight for Italy with 
a musket as with a sword." 

The enemy of course had noticed the party, 
and presently sent a shell so directly over Gari- 
baldi's head, that he looked up and smiled, as 
though in acknowledgment of the accuracy of 
the aim. The battery was so distant that the 
smoke could scarcely be seen. 

The general now walked on alone, and re- 
mained at some distance, minutely examining 
the enemy's positions ; then he returned quickly, 
called out " Acqua ! acqua !" drank out of one of 
those singular glass bottles which are about the 
size of a well-grown child of three or four years 
old, handed it to his staff, who followed his 
example, and departed as he had come. 

As it was pretty clear that nothing of moment 
was likely to occur immediately, our friend and 
I returned at night to Naples. " On the Tuesday 
following, however (the ninth October), a mes- 
sage importing the probability of "something" 
on the morrow again enticed us to the front, 
and again the neighbourhood of St. Angelo was 
indicated as the theatre of action. During the 
last three days our lines had been greatly 
strengthened, and more guns (in all, eighteen) 
were in position ; but no siege artillery nad ar- 
rived, excepting a huge old Spanish niece which 
looked as if it would be more at nome in a 

We found things a good deal changed at the 
chateau Delia Corte. A portion of it had been 
burned down, and the remainder so pounded by 
the enemy, that our friends had been compelled 
to abandon their comfortable apartments, aud 
take refuge in the little chapel (attached) in the 
rear of the house. 

A shell had entered the chamber of Captain 
Hoffman, in which he, Colonel De Abna, and 
two Italian officers were sleeping. Passing over 
Hoffman's head, it bounded under the boards 
which formed the bed of the Italians, and ex- 
ploded there, killing one and dangerously wound- 
ing the other. The room itself was not the 
picture of neatness. A number of other men 
had been killed and wouuded in and about the 
building ; and the batteries on the road and hill, 
under the direction of Colonel Dowling, chief 
of the artillery, an old Crimean officer, were at 
this moment endeavouring to divert the atten- 
tion of the enemy. 

My colonel, who knev the colonel, proposed 
that we should pay him a visit in his battery, 
each taking in his hand a bottle of Falernian, 
to refresh the warriors. On climbing to the 
spot, we were informed that he had gone down 
to visit his guns in the road. Fate had appa- 
rently ordained that I should shed a little blood 
in the cause of Italy, for, in the act of quitting 
the battery I slipped, fell, and, smaslung my 
bottle on the rock, lacerated my hand so se- 
verely as to be obliged to go to the ambulance 
for assistance. 

Close by, there stood a little looanda, and 
hither, presently, came many of those engaged 
about this part of the line, to see what refresh- 
ment might be had. It was a strange assem- 
blage, as various in language as in rank and 
costume French, English, Germans, Swedes, 
and Scotchmen a cook, a general, a doctor, a 
runaway apprentice, and an Indian veteran. 
Grades and business are very indefinite in Gari- 
baldi's army. 

"What is your position here, sir, may I be 
permitted to ask ?" inquired a little man who 

106 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

was poking about in the crowd, of my colonel. 
His face bore such a look of innocent inquiry 
that my colonel could not resent the imper- 

" I give you my honour I don't know," said 
he. " When there's fighting, I fight. When I 
receive orders, I execute them. I'm on the 
staff, I take it. At least the general thinks so. 
I have some indistinct impression that my rank 
is colonel. I get my two francs a day, like 
everybody else, and it pays for my tobacco." 

" What is your position, colonel, may I be 
allowed to inquire ?" asked the little man, pre 
sently, sidling up to Colonel Dowling. 

" Now, if you'll believe me, I haven't the re- 
motest conception," replied that officer, who 
was hacking away at a lump of hard beef, placed 
upon a harder loaf, by way of platter. "Some- 
body mentioned that I was inspector-general of 
artillery. I haven't heard of anybody above me 
in that department, and I haven't had time to 
look out for those below. Major G con- 
structs the batteries, and I find the guns." 

" And the men ?" 

" I don't know precisely how I get the men. 
I always find a lot of chaps about me, and soon 
know whom to select. I lost my best man to- 
day, poor fellow. But here's a lad worth any 
two that are left." 

He, pointed to an individual in a yellow stable- 
jacket and overalls. He was a livery-stable 
keeper in Naples. He had never seen a shot 
fired until the battle of the first of October, when, 
being accidentally present, he took such a fancy 
to the " sport of princes" that he could not find 
it in his heart to quit the playground again. 
His great delight was a battery. He liked 
plenty of noise, and attached himself especially 
to Colonel Dowling' s big thirty-twos : proving 
himself not only perfectly cool and self-possessed, 
but a very skilful and efficient gunner. There 
was a sad paucity of artillerymen, and such a 
hand was highly appreciated. A day or two 
before, the officer comrp auding a battery on the 
left, which had lost several men, had applied to 
Dowling for assistance, adding, " And, for God's 
sake, send one Englishman." 

" Now, come with me and see some shooting," 
said Colonel Dowling, who had finished his bone; 
" I am going to knock that battery out of time 
before dusk." 

Down we went, to where, about two hundred 
yards beyond the farm, the colonel had esta- 
blished his pet battery, which consisted simply 
of two huge field pieces placed on the bare high 
road, at right angles to it, without parapet or 
breastwork, except the bank, about four feet 
high, that lined the road. On the other side of 
the bank, the ground dipped, and then came a 
thick almond and pine copse, through the tops 
of which our guns fired. 

The enemy's work was on the other side of 
the wood, on a slight acclivity distant three- 
quarters of a mile, but, from our propinquity to 
the trees, wholly invisible to us, as we were to 
them. Our guns were pointed and elevated in 
accordancewith the directions of Colonel Dowling 

and of an officer of Scotch family in Garibaldi's 
service, named Cowper, who stood on the higher 
bank in rear of the guns. 

The enemy replied at once, and with a pre- 
cision one could not too strongly commend or 
deprecate. Shot, shell, and grenade came in 
quick succession ; but though some fell in the 
short space between us and the trees, and more 
went over and sent up clouds of dust from the 
bank behind, nothing touched the road. There 
were some remains of a stone hovel or pig-sty 
(it might have been once the residence of some 
boor of distinction) in our rear, round the angles 
of which a group of soldiers were huddling. 
At first, I was inclined to envy their position, 
but the veteran, my colonel, telling us that the 
bank, low as it was, offered better cover, we 
stood between the guns, and were deafened. 

Tor nearly an hour that is, as long as the 
colonel's ammunition held out the noise and 
hubbub were tremendous. It was his theory that 
a rapid fire deranges the nerves of the enemy, 
and renders their return less telling. 

"Bang bang!" "Whiz!" "Terra! terra!" 
(to lie down). "Carica con palle" (charge with 
ball). " Con grenata!" (with grenade). "Bang!" 
" Whiz !" " Acqua ! acqua !" (water, to sponge 
out). "Terra!" "Euoco! Euoco !" (fire). 

" Don't lie down !" Cowper called out, skip- 
ping about in his eager excitement. "Never 

" But I do mind," said Colonel Dowling (as 
brave a man as ever breathed), quietly lying 
down with the rest. " Think of my guns." 

Besides these sounds, in which the elements, 
earth, fire, and water, were mixed up in a manner 
a little puzzling, there was considerable shout- 
ing whenever one of our missiles entered the 
enemy's works. But, in spite of all efforts, and 
a fire so rapid as to heat the guns almost to 
danger, the foe would not be silenced until our 
ammunition failed when they ceased also. 

A few minutes later we took leave of our 
friends and returned towards St. Angelo. When 
we imagined ourselves quite out of range, a 
shell from a battery on the Capua side exploded 
close beside us. I picked up a hot fragment, 
as a reminiscence of my first day under fire. 



To this day there is a controversy among the 
learned as to the character of Richard the Third. 
And of course the popular opinion, which rests 
on the main facts of the man's life, is the just 
one, however sophists or satirists plead, explain, 
justify, refine, weigh, hesitate, and end by falling 
foul of each other, and dropping their subject 
out of sight. 

Yet a digest of the "Patent Rolls" of his 
reign, published in the ninth report of the 
public records, exhibits this crook -back'd 
usurper in his private character, "grateful for 
services rendered to liis house in prosperity and 
adversity ; mindful of old servants, and willing 
to lessen his own revenue to benefit faithful 
towns, or relieve distress." 

OhadH i>: IUM.] 


Ptowbr M, iwaj 107 

These remarks arc suggested from finding 
the name of Kirliard, when Duke of (ilou- 
mentioned in a narrative of the violence and 
disdain of the laws not infrequent in the times 
of the Wars of the Hoses, which appears in one 
ofthe Parliamentary petitions, temp I \~t'.>, about 
the thirteenth year of Edward the Fourth. 

" To the right wyse and discrete Commens in 
this present Parlemeut assembled ; Lamentably 
compleyneth and sheweth unto your grete wys- 
domes, Kateriue late the wyfe of llichard Wil- 
liamson, that where as the said Richard was in 
Godds peas and cure Sovereigne Lord the Kyng 
the first clay of Octobr nowe last passed, ridyng 
and corny ne from a Toune called Ricall in the 
counte of York, toward his owne dwellyng place 
the same Counte; and as he 


was at rlemmtogburch within the same Counte, 
to have passed over a Fery there called Barneby 
Fery, which was in the high wey toward his 
said dwelling place, there come Robert Farnell" 
(let us breathe a bit, for there's an awfully long 
sentence to be completed) " Robert Farnell 
late of Newsom beside Hoveden in the same 
Counte yoman, otherwise called Robert Forster, 
llichard Farnell late of Newsom beside Hoveden 
in the same Counte, otherwise called Richard 
Forster, and John Faraell late of Newsom be- 
side Hoveden in the same Counte yoman, other- 
wise called John Forster, sonnes of Thomas 
Farnell, &c., otherwise called Thomas Forster, 
defeusibly arrayed, that is to say with jakkes 
and salettes, and with force and annes that is to 
say, with bowes, arrowes, swerdes and speres, 
of malice afore thought, atte Hemmyngburgh 
aforeseid, lay in awayte to slee and murder the 
said Richard Williamson, and uppon hym then 
and there made a grete assaute and affraye, and 
hym there horribly smote with a spere that he 
fell beside his hors to the grounde ; and then the 
said Mysdoers havyng noo mercy ne pite of hym, 
with their swordes smote of booth the handes of 
the same Richard Williamson, and oon of his 
armes above the elbowe, and hym houghsynued, 
and hym so dedely woouded and lefte hym there 
for dede, of whicn strokes and dedely woondes 
the seid llichard Williamson within short tyme 
after dyed. 

"And so the said Robert Richard Fromell and 
John, the same Richard Williamson then and 
there iVlonsly murdred and slcwe, aud hym then 
and there of his goodes, that is to say, of a 
Bowe, xii Arrowes, a Sworde, a Buckler, pric' 
is., and other Goodes felonsly robbed and de- 
spoyled. And then the said Robert, Richard 
Farnell and John, departed and roode to the said 
Thomas their fader, to the said Toune of Hem- 
myugburgh ; ami the said Thomas, knowyng all 
his said Sonnes the forscid felonyez and murdres 
and robberies in fourme aforeseid to have doon, 
all theym and every of theym atte Toune of New- 
som atoresaid, the same day and dyvers tymes 
after, felonsly recettcd and conforted; and the 
said Thomas, forthwith after the said felonye, 
murthcr and robbery so doon, laboured to the 
right hi^li and myghty Pryuce and full honorable 
Lord Richard l5uk of Gloucestr', to take and 

accept hym and all his said myschevous Sonnes 
to his service, entendying by the same, that he 
and his said Sonnes should have been supported 
in their horrible felonye, murther and robbery : 
by which grete laboure of the said Thomas, tie 
said Due afterward havyng verrey knowlegge 
and notise of the said felonye, murther and rob- 
bery, the said Thomas then callyng hymself 
servaunt to the said Due, and werying his 
clothyng uppon hym, gotten and had by Soti'l 
and crafty meanes, commauuded that the said 
Thomas shuld be brought unto the Gaole of 
York, there to abide, unto the tyme that he of 
the felonye, murther and robery aforesaid were 
lawfully acquite or atteynted : whieii foreseid 
feloniez, murthers and roberies by your wys- 
doaies considered, ye like to pray the Kyng, that 
by the advis and assent of the Lordes Spirituelx 
and Temporelx in this present Parlement as- 
sembled, and by auctorite of the same it be 
ordeyned, established and enacted, that a Writte 
of Corpus cum causa, may be directed oute of 
the Kyngs Chauncery to the Shiref of Yorkshire, 
or to the Gaoler of the Gaole aforeseid for the 
tyme beyng, to bryng upp the body of the same 
Thomas, uppon payne of cc li., at utas of Seynt 
Hillary next comyng, or any other day after, 
to have hym afore the Kyng in his Benche ; and 
there the said Thomas by the Justices of Plees 
afore the Kyng to be holden assigned, to be 
comitted to warde unto the prisone of Newgate, 
there to abide withoute bailie or maynprise, to 
such time as he of the said felonez and murdrez 
be lawfully acquite or atteynted. And also that 
it be ordeyned, established and enacted by auc- 
torite aforesaid, that the said Katerine may have 
oute of the Kyngs Chauncery, upon the said 
felonye, murdre and robbre, asmany and such 
Writtes of Proclamation ayenst the said Robert, 
Richard Farnell, John and Thomas, and every 
of them as to hir shal be requisite in that partie, 
direct to the Shiref of Yorkshire for the tyme 
beyng, retournable afore the Kyng in his said 
Bench at the utas (the eighth day) of Seynt 
Hillary next comyng, or at any other day after, 
commaunding hym by the same, uppon the payn 
of cc li., to make open and severall Proclama- 
tions at Howden in the said Counte of York, at 
severall tymes by the space of a moneth, aud the 
same Writte or Writtes duely served to retourne 
afore the Kyng in his said Bench, at the day 
conteyned in the same Writte or Writtes, upon 
the same payne, that the said Robert, llichard 
Farnell, John and Thomas, in their proprc pcr- 
sones doo appiere afore the Kyug m his said 
Bench, at the day conteyned in the said Writte 
or Writtes of Proclamation, to aunswere to all 
such Bille or Billes, Action or Actions, which 
the said Katerine, or any other persone or per- 
sones, then will sue ayenst theym, or any of 
theym, of the said felome, murther and robbery ; 
and theruppon the said Robert, Richard Farnell, 
John and Thomas, to be commytted to warde 
unto the foreseid prisone of Newgate, there to 
abide without bailie or maynprise, unto the 
tyme that the said Bille or Billes, Action or 
Actions, and every of them, be utterly deter- 

108 [November 10, 18CO.] 


[Conducted by 

myned, and execution had by force of the same. 
And if any Keper to whome they shal be com- 
mytted to ward, snffre theym, or any of them, 
to be at large, bailie or maynprise ; the same 
Keper then, to forfet ccc li. ; ii paries thereof to 
the use of the Kyng, and the iii d part therof to 
the partie that dooth sue in that behalf. And 
if the said Robert, Richard Farnell, John, and 
Thomas, atte day conteyned in the said Writte 
or Writtes of Proclamation, appere not afore 
the Kyng in his said Bench ; that then they, 
and ich of theym so then not apperyng, stoud 
and be convicted and atteynted of the said 
felonyez, murdres and robberiez, and have like 
Jugement and Execution and like Forfeitures, 
as usuelly is used in other atteyndres of feloniez, 
murdres and robberies, had by the commen 

This petition received for reply, "Soit fait 
come il est desire ;" but there is no ready means 
of ascertaining whether the rascals came by 
their deserts ; most probably, in those quarrel- 
some days of York and Lancaster, partisans 
fighting their faction fights on great and small 
occasions, they escaped, and the widow remained 
without remedy. 


THE Manse, with thirteen brick-red gables, 
Quaintly hooded with sandstone dark, 

With ivied stacks of crumbling chimneys, 
Stands on the skirts of St. Cyril's park : 

The diamond casements are green and shattered, 
The mullions mellow and grey with rime, 

And even the vine on the porch has rotted 
In the frosts and rains of forgotten time. 

All round the silent, pathless gardens 

The red fruits drop in the summer hours; 
And the wind blown out of the roofless arbours 

Is faint with the breath of the levelled flowers. 
High on the terrace, woodbine muffled 

With blossoms the Greek urns overflow; 
And the swallows' nest in the shattered statues 

That bend by the fountains, far below. 

Stained and broken, the dusky arras 

Like twilight hangs in the voiceless rooms; 
And the misty cirques of the fractured skylights 

Teem with imperfect lights and glooms. 
All day, the sunlight, in dusty splendour, 

Inward slants on the oaken floors ; 
All night, the moon, with a mournful glory, 

Floats through the .echoing corridors. 

Many a time, In the precious seasons, 

Hidden behind the veils of fate. 
A young wife smiled from the diamond lattice, 

And children laughed at the jasminedgate: 
Tender affections, fond endearments, 

Brightened the life of the happy throng ; 
The day was buried with prayers and laughter, 

The nights were epics of peaceful song. 
No more : the richly-blossomed trailer 

Garlands the round of the channelled eaves; 
The dial glows in the crimson brier, 

The linnet sings in the privet, leaves: 
The white rose blows in the tangled hedges, 

The laurels gleam by the garden door; 
But they, the gracious and gentle- hearted, 

Walk in that ancient Manse no more. 

Peace unto thee! whilst roof and gable 

Mist-like rise in the owlet dusk, 
And the airs of the mournful poplar alleys 

Are freighted with frankincense and liiusk, 
Peace unto thee ! the bloom shall perish, 

And Winter wither the orchard tree ; 
Whilst They, in the light of a fairer Eden, 

Shall breathe the air of Eternity. 


I HAVE a notion that a British Resident is a 
person who lives in Honduras or Hong-kong. 
It may interest the British public to hear of a 
British Resident who never has been to Hon- 
duras. His name is John Limpet, and although 
he is sixty-eight years old, he never has been 
out of England since he attained years of dis- 
cretion. In his childhood (when he could not 
help himself), he was indeed sent to learn 
languages upon the continent of Europe ; but 
his whole play-time abroad was spent in thrash- 
ing foreign boys who denied the supremacy of 
England, and questioned the asserted magnitude 
of Limpet Hall. 

Limpet, of Limpet Hall, cares about everything 
British, and is very angry at this time with fo- 
reigners for forcing themselves upon his at- 
tention. He has seized a general idea that the 
Volunteer movement may be necessary to teach 
foreigners to keep themselves to themselves, and 
therefore the old fellow has been shouldering his 
rifle with the rest of us. " They have stormed 
and got possession of our newspapers," he says, 
" and they are already masters of my dinner-table. 
They shall have no more." Good martyr ! His 
old boon companions ask him what the Emperor 
of the French intends to do, when he is asking 
himself whether the next bottle he has up shall 
be Lafitte of the mean year 'forty-five, or 
Chateau Margaux of the noble 'forty -four. He 
holds his tongue and sends for 'forty-five Lafitte. 
Nevertheless, John Limpet likes a foreigner 
who comes to the hall as a friend ; especially, 
because his talk is sure to be of England. But 
his lament is over his crony Jack Sprat, who is 
now all for such fat as Italy and France and 
Austria, and who will none of your good British 
meat and bone. Limpet expostulates with his 
erring neighbour and brother justice, but Sprat 
only cries, " Pooh, man ! We have no time for 
talking in these days about the Glorious British 
Constitution, as our fathers did ! Whatever was 
done, whether it was a new war to be waged, or 
a new shoe-tie coming into fashion, Glorious 
British Constitution was the cry. Now, I hope, 
we are wiser than our fathers." 

" Didn't you," Limpet expostulates " didn't 
you send me to sleep last night, Sprat, with 
your rigmarole on a New Austrian Constitution ? 
Didn't our friend Craw upset a decanter of port 
with flinging his hands about while he talked 
about the Glorious Italian Monarchy ? And 
then you all were sticking Spanish cigars into 
your foreign-looking muzzles ! If you still 
thought properly about the British Constitution, 
you might smoke clay pipes, and show your 
smooth, round English chins and throats. You 

Clmrlei Dlckeni.] 


[NoTnb*r 10. HMO.] 109 

must know very well that foreigners grow hair 
to bide their yellow jaws. An, when shall I 
see again fair English red and brown, see the 
firm set of English lips, and the fun at play over 
the earnest of an English mouth ! A beard's 
a mask ; I like to see the mouth that speaks to 

My friend the British Resident is no doubt 
wrong in this. It begins to appear even in 
English eyes that the beard goes more to con- 
fession than the lip. Set your hand to your 
beard and your character is in it under your sign- 
manual. Leave your beard to nature, and in its 
unfettered sweep every hair magnifies at the tip 
the slightest movement at the root, so that a 
play of the mouth perceptible to few becomes 
an expression evident to all, that is to say, 
whenever men are observant as they are in 
England, and true beards are plentiful enough 
to give room for a fair knowledge of their phy- 

"I hate everything that is not thoroughly 
English," says John Limpet ; but when he comes 
to details, while he is just in a great deal of his 
grumbling, I doubt very much whether he has 
a clear notion of what is national. Once upon 
a time cock-fighting was held to be thoroughly 
English. Roger Ascham, one of our first 
\\ritcrs of fine English prose, tutor to three 
English sovereigns, of whom Queen Elizabeth 
was one, not only wrote a treatise in dialogue 
upon the Art or Teaching and Tonophilus, or 
the School of Shooting, which may pass as the 
lirst of patriotic manuals for English volunteers, 
but he was the author also of a lost book upon 
cock-fighting, which will some day be unearthed 
from among the manuscripts in an old library at 
Cambridge or elsewhere. " Of all kind of pas- 
times fit for a gentleman," lie said, " I will, 
God willing, in fitter place more at large declare 
fully, in my Book of the Cock-pit." We shall 
learn something by the disentombing of that 
" Book of the Cock-pit," in which one of the 
most accomplished scholars of the days of 
Henry the Eighth, Edward the Sixth, Mary 
and Elizabeth, said what a refined English 
gentleman had then to say on behalf of a sport 
which we should now esteem too brutal for the 
untaught mob. 

When, cock-fighting was thoroughly English 
there was held to be something terribly un- 
English in certain forms of dress. Even the 
earnest, honest Latimcr, who spoke so many 
home truths, was as as angvy with the women's 
caps and with their way ot hairdressing^ as with 
their sins. " I would they would (as they have 
much pranking) when they put on their caps, I 
would, he says, " they would have this medi- 
tation, I am now putting on my power upon 
my head. . . . But now here is a vengeance 
devil : we must have our power from Turkey of 
velvet, and gay it must be, far fetched, dear 
bought, and when it cometh it is a false sign. 
I hud rather have a true English sign, than 
a false sign from Turkey. It is a false sign" 
hear it, all modern wearers of neck-bonnets ! 
" when it covcreth not their head as it 

should do. For if they would keep it under 
the power as they ought to do, there should not 
be any such thussocks nor tufts be seen as 
there be, nor such laying out of the hair, nor 
braiding to have it open." Latimer against 
hair pads ! Scripture, the preacher told women, 
does indeed mention curls, but holy men of old 
never saw women " in these thussocks that are 
laid out now-a-days." Women had not in their 
time " come to be so far out of order." His ad- 
vice to a lady was, " I will tell thee if thou 
wilt needs lay it out, or if thou wilt needs show 
thy hair and have it seen, go and poll thy head, 
or round it, as men do : for to what purpose 
is it to pull it out so, and to lay it out ?" 

The Satirist, instead of the preacher in a 
later time, attacked the mouse-skin eyebrows of 
the fair : 

Helen was just slipt into bed: 
Her eyebrows on the toilet lay : 

Away the kitten with them fled, 
As fees belonging to her prey. 

Then, madam must get up herself to bait a 
trap, sensible that 

On little things, as sages write, 

Depends our human joy or sorrow ; 
.If we don't catch a mouse to-night, 
Alas ! no eyebrows for to-morrow. 

The days of the mouse-skin eyebrow pre- 
ceded the time when bell-ringing was a tho- 
roughly national amusement. True Britons 
made parties to the belfries, and rang triple bob 
majors against each other and all the world. 

I sometimes ask my friend Limpet what he 
takes to have been the most British period of 
British history. When the Anglo-Saxons came 
in on the old Gaels, they were foreigners them- 
selves. They began to gad sooner than any 
people, were among the first to voyage to the 
Holy Land, the first to have a hostelry for their 
own use at Rome the Anglo-Saxon Family 
Hotel as we might call it. The Normans brought 
a flood of foreign talk and foreign ways with 
them. Though Chaucer was, in Spenser's mind, 
the " well of English undeliled," he was a town- 
bred courtier who mixed many a French word 
with his verse, while his contemporary, the 
country-bred author of the Vision of Tiers Plow- 
man seemed to write in another tongue, because 
he held more closely by the homely Saxon phrase. 
In Spenser's time every true British Resident 
complained of the gadding of society at large to 
Italy, and of the bringing thence of all manner 
of outlandish intellectual and moral textures, 
which were to be preferred to homespun. Ladies 
and gentlemen of the court of good Queen Bjess 
served up to each other over supper-tables, such 
outlandish and affected dishes of minced words, 
and read such preposterous Italian novels, that 
my friend Limpet, had he lived in the great days 
of Elizabeth, would have been scared out of his 
wits. He would even have had to cut holes in 
his coat-sleeves, and carry cushions about in 
the legs of his trousers. We ceased to feed on 
Italian, only when we had French crammed into 
our mouths. We bowed very humbly to the 

110 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

French Boileaus, and to the critical forty of the 
Trench Academy, when, in the age of Louis 
Quatorze, England pined under her Stuarts. 
We were thoroughly English when we got rid 
of the Stuarts and received a Dutchman m their 
place. But our very tongues were so long in 
subjection to French law, that my dear friend 
Limpet himself, who prides himself upon the 
fine long words in which he lays the law down 
to his friends, is, as to that matter, still a French 

For this was what we did. When we be- 
lieved the French to be the best of earthly 
critics, we saw how they proceeded with the 
settling of their language. They had diversities 
of dialogue, and almost two languages, divided 
by the Loire, so they resolved on a great dic- 
tionary that was to be made by the academy of 
forty, sitting in judgment upon all words used 
in France, and settling which should be rejected 
as unfit for literary use, and which should be 
received as sterling French. They preferred 
words of Latin origin. French is made of the 
language of the Latins mixed with that of the 
Celts whom they conquered, and is essentially 
one of the Latin tongues. When the French 
dignified their language by a constant reference 
to Latin, they did precisely what we do when 
we refer English to Anglo-Saxon. But our 
critics never thought of that. France looked 
up its vernacular Latin ; France was wise, France 
was supreme. England would do the same, and 
throughout all the reigns of the Georges, men 
were not thoroughly English in their speech, 
even when as parliamentary orators and patriots, 
they rolled out their denunciations of the French. 
Not only does the element of Latin brought 
into English by the Normans supply less than a 
third part of our vocabulary, but the Latin 
words are, at least, three times less in demand 
for daily use. The structure of our language, 
the essentials of its grammar, the words for all 
the inmost feelings, the close natural ties, and 
the necessities of life, are Anglo-Saxon, as in 
French they are Latin. Yet we harked back 
to the Latin, copying our neighbours blindly, 
till the growth of a large popular literature, and 
at the same time of a more independent scholar- 
ship, drove us in practice as in theory upon a 
reversal of our fathers' rule. Now, nobody 
willingly will take a word of Latin birth to 
express anything that can be said in the true 
home speech ; and our common talk and writing 
let Jack Limpet scold as he will is more 
thoroughly English than it ever has been since 
the days of William the Conqueror. 
_ My friend the British Resident has been mar- 
ried to his wife Cicely these forty years. For 
the last twenty I have known them familiarly, 
and have never heard them either quarrel or 
protest the depth of their affection for each 
other, or hold forth upon the blessing of the 
marriage ceremony, which is the glorious do- 
mestic constitution they established for them- 
selves by a good deal of family fighting forty 
years ago. When their wedding was not a re- 
mote event, they no doubt congratulated them 

selves on it pretty frequently. Now, they say 
nothing about that: though if John died on. 
Monday, Cicely would be dead the next Satur- 
day, I do not doubt. They have eyes for their 
neighbours as they sit by their own quiet 
hearth; they praise Bill for the determination 
he shows to be married to his Sue, and discuss 
with a genial sympathy the joys and sorrows of 
the parish outside their park gates. "Well, 
sir, what then?" he asks, if I throw these habits 
in his face. " Isn't an Englishman to have 
room in his heart for his neighbour ?" " Cer- 
tainly, Jack. So I like to hear John Bull and 
his wife talk of their neighbours as you talk of 
yours. That's thoroughly English." 

No doubt my friend the British Resident 
himself is insular. Foreigners sometimes say 
we are all insular in our habits, but Limpet 
knows better than that, for he believes himself, 
and perhaps rightly, to be the one insular man 
in Britain. There never was a people on the 
face of the earth less tied within bounds than the 
English have been at all periods of their history, 
or more disposed to send their sympathies 
abroad. In this respect, indeed, their fault has 
been a tendency to care more about affairs of 
Borrioboola than affairs of Bermondsey. From 
no country on earth has there spread heartier 
sympathy with suffering and a truer sound of 
rejoicing in all that is noble outside its own 
bounds, than from quiet, busy, and warm-hearted 
England. Some Prussians of late have been 
making themselves conspicuous for fighting in- 
solently against a ghost of English insolence 
raised by themselves. I will make no obvious 
comparisons between the behaviour of English- 
men to Prussians in England, and the behaviour 
of Prussians to Englishmen in Prussia. But I 
should like to know what literature but the 
English is rich in such symptoms as shine 
from Milton's sonnet on the Vaudois massacre, 
" Avenge, Lord, thy slaughtered saints," or 
what Prussian ever heard how "Freedom shrieked 
when Kosciusko fell !" Our business is with the 
world, and where we work we feel. Our sym- 
pathy is always hearty, and too often, per- 
haps, as regards neighbours over the sea, ac- 
tive. We may not be insular enough in that 
respect. It is true that we do not, as a nation, 
plunge headlong into direct participation with 
our neighbours when they toil and battle. All 
our instincts are against it. Every man of us 
at home has his own battle to fight, and is ex- 
pected, even by his nearest and his dearest 
friends, to fight it for himself. While he fights 
bravely, he may count on sympathy; but, roughly 
speaking, if he cannot hold his own ground for 
himself, we assume that he has not a right _ to 
it. Where a man cannot stand without being 
held on by main force of others, he had better 
shift his ground. We expect states, as we ex- 
pect men, to live by their own energies. It is 
the natural discipline of .life Avith which we can- 
not interfere, but we can put our hearts into a 
study of it. 

Limpet complains that his newspaper is full 
of tidings about foreigners, and that his neigh- 


[Hovember, 10,1860.} ] ] 1 

hours all discuss the prospects of the Continent : 
not s-i\iii anything at all about the British 
Constitution. "Has he observed the English 
heart put into all this talk over the work of 
f ore! LM H !-> ; the unstinted sympathy that fastens 
on a brave Italian as surely as if he had been 
born within sound of Bow bells that hails with 
delight every chance there may appear to be of 
the advance of another nation to enjoyment of 
what Englishmen enjoy. But our reserve is 
very English, aud long may it be so. Men mea- 
sure their words who mean them seriously. The 
very quickness of the Englishman's impulse to 
sympathy, has made him sensitive, and, for many 
a good honest reason, slow to express all he 

I don't agree, therefore, with Limpet that 
the strong interest felt by a great seafaring, 
world-pervading nation, in what passes in 
all corners of the world is un-English. It 
is quite true that at home as well as abroad, 
our sphere of sympathy is larger than our 
sphere of action, and that we arc guilty, 
by omission, of many of the sins which are 
committed wilfully by tyrants whom we hate. 
It is true, also, that as a state selfish and in- 
sular as we are said to be we should do more 
for ourselves if we thought less about our neigh- 
bours; yet, perhaps, our national life is the 
stronger, ana we are more thoroughly English, 
when our thoughts take a wide range. 

it is to be " un-English," except it be to 
be cold-hearted or idly dependent upon others, I 
have never yet succeeded in discovering. We 
have been content to wear our clothes, and 
trim our hair, and regulate our dinners, at all 
times in accordance with the customs of all 
nations under the sun. We have had our days 
of Star Chambers, of bear-baitings, of assassina- 
tions ; we have drunk our share of the lees, as 
well as of the wine, of civilisation ; and if we 
have not more short-comings than our neigh- 
bours, we confess to ourselves more, and like 
proud as we are to hold up any excellence we 
see in others as example for ourselves. Our 
pride helps to keep us honest, for it is the pride 
that sustains, not the vanity that weakens. We 
are an utterly earnest nation of incorrigible 
jokers ; but the jokes we relish best, always rest 
on a basis of substantial interest in the aflairs of 
life. Perhaps the active sense of right and 
duty national reserve almost restrains us from 
saying a religious sense is the quality that we 
should like best to see traced through our his- 
tory as a nation, and regarded as the source of 
all the liberty of opinion and energy of action, 
wholesome in the aggregate, that has made 
England strong. John Limpet, the British Re- 
sident, and Jack Sprat, who has seen the world, 
agree over their wiuc upon one point that never 
enters into their discussion. Quietly they il- 
lustrate by their lives the true national mind 
expressed by Nelson in his watchword, '"' Eug- 
land expects every man to do his duty." To 
be thoroughly English is, therefore, to find com- 
patriots among true men of every race under 
the sun, 

The sum, then, of all I urge on Limpet, is, 
that in language, dress, habits of civilisation, 
and so forth, there is very little to be found 
among us that can be called thoroughly English 
or un-English ; but that the soul ofthe national 
life is a principle recognised widely, not only 
among ourselves. Wherever it is active, it en- 
gages English sympathies. A man, or race of 
men, known to be fearlessly doing right, what- 
ever the nation, has the heart of the people of 
England, and is not parted from them in their 
minds by the faintest line of a provincial dis- 


IT has been written by Mr. Carlyle that a 
Gothic cathedral is a stone epic. This recurs to 
me as I come again and again to read that other 
poem, which in its rich warm marble dress, its 
colours and its gold, becomes, for me, an epic 
Virgilian Saint Paxil's elder sister. 

The new beauties that come out with every 
new reading the glosses, the comments, the 
shifting lights and tones are positively inex- 
haustible. As I stretch back, with an inexpres- 
sible fondness, in that direction, the clouds seem 
to part, and soft pictures, quivering at first like 
dissolving views, stand out dimly on the coloured 
background, then fade out, and give place to 


She has flashed out in the sun of that morn- 
ing of palms, superb and with a grand festivity, 
richly dight in her pale grey blue kirtle and 
pink incrustations and yellow gold-besprinkled 
bodice. Brightest sun lights up these glo- 
rious harmonies the holiday multitude nas 
drifted, has spread like an inundation over the 
pavement, and has been scattered again the 
gorgeous parti-coloured cord, with its gold and 
scarlet and violet threads, has been twining and 
twining for hours the eye has been sated with 
soft contrasts of tone. It is enough to fill with 
grief and spite, the heart of that poor younger 
sister, neglected Cinderella yonder on Ludgate- 
hill, all blackened with coal and soot from mind- 
ing the fires, with her coarse clothing ; while her 
elder sister comes abroad gorgeous in her superb 
finery. It is a high festival day, but it is the 
festivity that comes before sorrow a supper for 
the Girondins a merry cheerful breakfast when 
the young novice comes in as a bride, with 
nuptial veil and flowers, and laughs and is glad 
with her relatives for the last time. But a few 
days more and the clouds have fallen. Thursday 
of "that holy week has come round, and Saiat 
Paul's elder sister mourns. The amber robe 
looks dull and browned, the harmonious blues 
and pinks have faded out, gaunt shadows hang 
between the arches, the great pillars and arch- 
ings stand out bare and unadorned. There is a 
sense of awful desertion and desolation abroad, 
and the footsteps echo hollowly as I walk up 
the great nave. The lone pavement spreads 
away imineas arable acreage of vast moorland; 

112 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

and the whole has become a gaimt monster cata- 
comb. Afar off, as it were, out of dark caves, 
lights glimmer, and the great four - pillared 
canopy rises stark and solemn, like a gloomy 
catafalque. Afar off, too, are clumps of ligures, 
all black and in shadow ; there are thousands 
scattered about and clustered in those dark cor- 
ners ; and yet all is deserted. All is changed 
mysteriously to a great stone prairie a sort 
of blighted heath in marble. Most mournful 
and dispiriting, the long bare walls, the deser- 
tion, and the heavy shadows. Draw near now 
to the left, where is a crowd of dark figures 
packed closely at a great archway figures 
leaning against pillars, bent low on their knees, 
but all looking in at the great archway, whence 
proceeds sad and solemn chanting funereal 
measure, sustained with a hard rugged vigour. 
And looking in I see that it is a great chapel 
(elsewhere it would be of itself a great church), 
and that by a dim, bluish half-twilight struggling 
in at the top windows, it is crowded with dim, 
undefined humanity. I see long files of darkly 
outlined canons, in their fur capes, sitting 
round in black oak stalls, regimentally in lines, 
some fifty or sixty in number, a perfect army 
canonical; while, to one side, are visible the 
dim figures in a spacious gallery, singing men 
too and the floor is filled with standing figures, 
packed close and listening. Hours go by, and 
the files of singing canons, sitting up in their 
ranks, have been giving out the sad refrain, 
never flagging ; hours go by, and the dark figures 
remain and listen, and never move. Gradually 
the twilight deepens, and the shadows fall thick, 
and then a few glimmering lights bring out again 
the regimentallines of the singing canons. 

Before this time, I have heard the solemn 
tread of feet behind, and looking, see passing 
by, a sort of awful pilgrimage, a hooded crucifix 
in front ; and some twenty figures in grey, 
with cloth masks hanging in front, with two 
holes for the eyes. They have come through 
the streets, gentle and simple, with a stray 
noble or two, and in this disguise may indulge 
in unostentatious piety. They will pray a few 
seconds before the shrine, and then are gone, 
their monotone chant lessening in the distance. 
An interval, and hark to the sweeter tongues 
of disguised ladies ! Hooded crucifix again, and 
a company of noble dames, shrouded in awful 
grey masks, defile out of the shadows. They 
have come from pious visitings of other churches. 
Then I wander back to the dark motionless 
figures, and to where the canons, still ranged 
steadily in their files, are working their mournful 
diapason. The yellow lights, flickering, flash 
upon their faces and grey tippets. 


Other dramas, short but powerful, proceed 
contemporaneously. Wandering, of these early 
penitential days, through this wilderness, the 
sad and mournful spirit of the place wraps you 
as in a shroud. The inexpressible desolation 
falls upon your heart also. Roam hither and 
thither purposeless; pass by the lorn altar, 

quite bare and stripped of its covering, with tha 
tabernacle door wide open ; then draw near to 
that western transept where that scattered crowd 
is standing. Others are wandering, purposeless 
too : approach, look for an instant, and go their 
way. A sort of hollow square of figures. Hush, 
signor! it is the Cardinal Grand Penitentiary! 
_ On his dark oak throne, raised on oaken steps, 
sits the Cardinal Grand Penitentiary, invested 
for these times of penance with powers of con- 
doning terrible sins, which might be confessed 
to minor tribunals and confessed in vain. Ex- 
quisitely harmonious is the toning of that figure 
dressed in that most graceful and unrivalled of 
ecclesiastical costumes the violet cap and cape, 
and the short transparent lace surplice over 
violet too. Gaunt iron-cheeked monks in rusty 
black, stand below on each side, with a stern 
ascetic look, one leaning on a sort of light wand 
of office. Prom this, spreads out the hollow 
square - of veiled ladies, beggars, penitents, 
soldiers, friars, and the general miscellany of a 
crowd kneeling, standing, praying, or looking 
curiously in one direction. At "each corner 
stands up stiff the yellow-striped sad-eyed Swiss, 
and leans upon his halberd. Even he looks too 
with the rest. And at what? At that wild- 
bearded villain of the mountains, in his green 
jacket with the silver buttons, and that drink- 
ing gourd slung about, who is on his knees 
at the feet of the violet cardinal, pouring into 
his ear a tale such a tale as it must be, 
from that animal forehead, and flattened nose, 
and shaggy eyebrows ! Think of these reserved 
sins, so terrible that priest must turn away his 
ears. But the violet figure has his arm about 
those shoulders, and has drawn the wretch closer 
to him, and will give him presently, words of 
comfort and consolation. Grim Swiss at corner 
leaning on his pike stolidly, curious faces watch- 
ing eagerly, beautiful Spanish lady waiting her 
turn (she can have no weight upon her soul, 
surely ?), and the centre violet figure embracing 
that wretched criminal, was there ever such 
dramatic contrast ? 

" Miserere mei, Deus, et secundum magnum 
miserationum tuorum dele iniquitatem meam," 
is borne past me in a sullen monotone, and a 
hooded brotherhood, with crucifix in front, trails 
by in long procession. 


I look back again into that penitential week, 
and, parting the mournful clouds which hang 
between, see myself, of a dusky evening when it 
is darkening slowly, standing at the foot of the 
grand Royal Staircase Scala Regia with its 
embroidered stone arching, and countless pillars 
supporting, one for every step. By which su 
perb approach does Hydra public, turning in from 
St. Peter's porch hard by, mount unceremonious, 
two flights high, to the chapel called Sixtine. 
Hours ago have the travelling men and women, 
greedy of sights, gorging themselves on all pos- 
sible things that can be seen by eyes, been set 
down at the foot of Royal Stair, and at broad 
noon have struggled into Michael Angelo's 



[Xorerabw JO, U60.J 113 

chapel, a heated, battling, overpowering mass, 
frantic with excitement to hear the famous 
world-ivnowued Miserere strain of one Maestro 
Allegri ! The evening shadows have come upon 
tin in, and the cold sing-song drags on unwearied. 
\ 1 . -.-ml thr grand Scala Regia, under the 
sloping all-embroidered aud arabesqued arch tliat 
ascends with me, it draws near to six o'clock. 
Late indeed : but the magic wail is as yet un- 

lYom the grand Royal Stair into this grander 
hall, all panelled round even higher than the 
doorways, and thence, upwards, flowered over 
and peopled with coloured figures, aud life, and 
action, but all toned down and blended with age. 
Solemn ante-chamber to the Chapel Sixtine 
close by, and, as I walk freely and see the scat- 
tered groups clustered afar off aud the tricolored 
soldier leaning thoughtfully on his mediaeval pike, 
I seem to have stepped into one of the old Bel- 
gian town-halls, washed in lightly by the brush 
of Louis Haghe. Here the miud, too, with- 
draws into its own ante-room, and gathers the 
sense of something solemn impending. Figures 
seem to flit by and cross softly, and whisper low 
with bated breath, and there, by the tall door- 
way where is the semicircular crowd gathered 
looking one way, and where hangs the dark sha- 
dowy folds of the curtain tossea now and again, 
and where is semicircle, too, of helmed heads, 
and plumes, and halberds, seems to be the mys- 
tery. It is growing dark, and the painted figures 
play out their action but duskily, and with this 
ghostly company looking down, I draw near to 
the silent cluster and the ring of halberds. As 
I come close to a yellow Switzer's shoulder, 
stern and immovable, some one passes out and 
the great curtain is lifted, and there is before 
me the whole Rembrandt scene, framed into 
the tall oaken doorway. With the most curious 
awe-striking contrast in the world, from the 
quiet desertion and stealthily moving figures 
of the hall, a glimpse into another world. Im- 
possible to think it could be so near. It almost 
startles me, the great waste of indistinct figures 
seated close, all stretching away in ranks aud 
ranks until lost and not to be pursued fur- 
ther in the gathering shadows. To look across 
this human waste, veiled and black-robed, and 
see in flashes and snatches, as it were, when- 
ever the curtain folds are lifted, those other 
awful figures gathered for the terrible Last 
Judgment, starting out of the gloom and show- 
ing their fleshy limos up and down on the great 
wall facing us at the other end ; awful groupings 
of Michael Angelo that live and look out mistily 
from the cold blue background which seems like 
atmosphere, with the melancholy yellow candles 
flaring high up on the screen-top half way down, 
and which seem like giant torches waved in the 
air by unseen hands ; with the funereal chanting, 
most dismal and most melancholy, proceeding 
from the side, a gallery where is a dim torcn 
too to see this, is to sec a picture that touches 
on the sublime. Indescribable the hushed stillness 
of that scene, with a strange weary sense as of 
its being protracted through, many, many hours. 

White specks glimmer indistinctly far away, 
priests celebrants; but the great quaint flesh 
and blood spectres struggling from the cold blue 
atmosphere, seem to blend with the real flesh ami 
blood figures below. Glimpses, too, high in the 
clouds overhead, of awful prophets, whose arms 
extended seem to point downward menacingly. 
The air seems peopled with these terrible ghosts. 
At this hour is the triumph of the sublime master, 
and happy, indeed, is he who has been denied 
free entrance to the chapel interior who has, 
for the first time, come face to face with the 
glories of Michael as the shadows of twilight 
deepen ! It is with such company, such atten- 
dant associations of sacred pomp and dim mys- 
tery, that this gigantic spirit would have you 
visit his work. As I look again and again 
through the oak-framed doorway, and see the 
wondrous phantasmagoria passing beyond, and 
rub my eyes and think it is a sort of dream, 
with what gratitude do I give thanks to those 
gentle muses who direct our footsteps kind 
Providences ! in things of Art, for that they 
did not lead me hither in the staring daylight 
when it was unpeopled ; with, perhaps, an ex- 
planatory guide, and, above all, with a Royal 
Red Book in my hand ! 

Miserere still, some stages on. Stand fast, 
halberdier, yellow-striped Swiss, without sense 
or feeling, beyond duty; for the crowd is thick- 
ening outside the hemicycle, pressing on you, 
and ferociously expostulating. Gentlemen, spick 
and span ripe for the ball-room, with folding 
Gibus, crush upon the yellow-striped and are 
repulsed ; for snatches ot sonorous music reach 
to us round the edge of the perverse curtain 
and turn us frantic. Gruff sergeant of Swiss 
calls from within hemicycle, " All in good time !" 
The most comical sergeant, wooden-faced, peer- 
ing through spectacles ! "Keep them back !" and 
we execrate him in our own tongue, for a grim 
puritan wooden-faced sergeant in spectacles. 

Ha ! flashes out upon me of a sudden radiant 
Spanish seflora, who has been fluttering round the 
stiff hemicycle, and cruelly denied entrance by 
those striped stocks and stones. Radiant, in- 
deed, in her jetty hair, that shines and rolls and 
eddies in its waving riches in her dark eyes in 
her oval face, all lighted up, and beaming in her 
dark veil. Spectacled sergeant has seen her ; grim 
military ogre, he will put her back. No ! ior a 
miracle, he is smiling a wooden smile on her ; is 
beckoning ; is opening a passage for her ! 

Gusts of sad threnodia are still borne out, 
but not yet famous wail. Growing darker and 
darker still. See ! Now at last obstructive cur- 
tain is drawn aside, and we look in unimpeded. 
A season of stillness ; sorrowful chanters are 
at rest ; one light, glimmering feeble, and cast- 
ing shadows in their faces, high in the gallery. 
Indistinct white figures seem meeting at altar ; 
and solitary yellow candle, which unseen hand 
holds aloft in air, flares solitary. Its brethren 
have been extinguished one by one. The ghostly 
company come out from the wall, and look 
through the shadows. Hush ! hush ! Now at 

[November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Thin and airy at first, borne on light treble 
wings, it comes forth fluttering : very JHolian in 
measure and barbaric in its harmony, but very 
mournful, softly praying mercy. I think at this 
moment of a dismal-minded tuner sounding his 
thirds and fifths persistently in a sad minor key; 
and it brings back to me perfectly this early 
portion. Up and down, rising and falling, that 
soft strain wind flows, while all bend their heads 
low, and turn their ears straining at every note. 
Suddenly, crowds of voices burst in with a cry, 
struggling with each other ; contending, rising 
to greater force, almost shouting, praying for, 
demanding mercy with a wild importunity; then 
subsiding, turns to sweetest supplication, and sad 
wail of despair, growing weaker and thinner, until 
at last the first jEolian measure flutters in, and 
swells, and falls calmly, repeating itself. The 
melancholy tuning thus recurs and recurs, the 
frantic chorus clamorous for mercy, striking in 
fiercely. Thus alternate, now soft and airy, 
now fierce and overpowering, the wild Allegri 
chant winds through many verses, repeating 
itself. Yery wild, very cold and severe, burst- 
ing at times into the richest breadth of har- 
monics (there must have been a dozen parts), it 
dies out. Follows, a chilling stillness ; silence 
as of death ; great yellow candle high in air, 
flaring its last. Ghostly shadows flit upon the 
walls, dancing grotesquely among the gaunt 
Angelo figures. Then from one of the indistinct 
white specks far away, reads solemnly and sadly, 
all the dark veils being bent low: "Christus 
factus est homo pro nobis," &c. 

Lo ! the flaring yellow candle has gone ! It 
is finished, and the white specks flit away. Now 
come gushing forth the black-robed miscellany, 
the veils and scarfs, the evening ties and coats, 
all much heated, and with a wearied look. The 
stark figures who have been waiting judgment 
on the great waste of wall, together with the 
pointing prophets overhead, will have the do- 
main presently to themselves. We seem to have 
watched through a long night. 


I stand waiting by the two Patagonian che- 
rubs so chubby and so playfully graceful who 
carry the great basin of holy water between 
them : for the days of mourning are spent, and 
the great Easter festivity has been just played 
out. The procession has swept by, and the 
high high mass sung. I have seen the eleva- 
tion of the Host, and stand waiting by the Pa- 
tagonian cherubs and their burden, trysting- 
place for lost sheep to meet. Gothicweary hath 
covenanted to meet at the sign of The Chubby 
Cherubs. There do I wait my company, to see 
together the final closing scene of the week of 
scenes the Grand Benediction. 

But a drizzling rain descending pitilessly the 
whole morning, this famous spectacle is not to 
be. Sucli rude interference is wholly excep- 
tional. Experienced persons take on" them to 
say (there are oldest inhabitants, you may be 
sure, ill an Eternal City) that for twenty-seven 
years such cruel interruption has not been. 

And this is why we wait by The Chubby Che- 
rubs, close to the door, having thus the whole 
grand sweep spreading away before us, abso- 
lutely in faint clouds of distance, with the 
warmest tinting stretching off too, and the 
crowded ranks of a congregation army, man 
behind man, stretching away too, until, amid 
the clouds, amid the far-off perspective, a white 
figure shall be made out, and give a substituted 
interior Benediction. A blue and golden guard, 
a thousand strong, with white plumes, edges the 
army congregated all the way down, finishing 
off in the perspective. 

Soft ! There is fluctuation yonder glimmer 
as of a white speck short bark of command 
from chief officers and rattle of arms rolls 
clown smartly till lost in the distance; the 
thousand white plumes sink suddenly; the 
blue and golden guards are on one knee ; con- 
gregational army, with a roll as of an Atlantic 
breaker, sinks on one knee too. Hush per- 
fect stillness and those who have good sight 
can make out the white speck moving, casting 
forth, it would seem, the blessing. It is done, 
and over the rattle of the blue and golden guards 
rising again, and the rustle and shifting of po- 
pulation, is heard the low subdued booming ar- 
tillery, away at Santo Angelo. 

The huge Atlantic wave of crowd, roaring, 
chafing, and fretting, now comes blustering 
down, to sweep tumultuous through all ways of 
egress. But the blue and gold warriors drawn 
across, present a strong line of hindrance not to 
be broken, and the billows are flnng back as 
upon a lee shore. Procession has yet to pass 
by, wending homeward, and must have a clear 
lane, kept by the gold and blue. Portly com- 
mander, with sword drawn, dresses his men 
close, and will let no man by. Italian billows 
take it patiently, British billows fume and 
are boisterously indignant. It is gross law 
of nations outraged worst instance of papal 
tyranny yet met with write to minister write 
to Times write to everybody. Lynx-eyed com- 
mander not to be moved : " Steady in the ranks 
there!" Suddenly the bright senora of the 
Sixtine, of the dark eyes and eddying jet hair, 
who has been fluttering down the ranks of the 
men-at-arms, has spied an opening, and in a flash 
has shot through ! Blue and gold stand aghast, 
panic has fallen on their ranks at this daring. 
Portly commander turns pale with rage : then, 
stumbling over his sword, flies in pursuit. 
Now, Heaven speed thee, dark-eyed senora, and 
some kind fate adroitly trip up this lumbering 
persecutor. Bird-like she flies her golden or- 
naments glistening has well-nigh cleared the 
open space, when a gigantic sapper and miner, 
a rough-bearded monster, steps from the ranks 
and bars her passage. .Ruin seize thee, ruth- 
less sapper ! confusion wait on thy banners, ill- 
favoured miner ! Senora, I grieve to write, is 
captured ; is brought back by portly commander, 
prize of his bow and spear. He is sadly blown, 
breathes stentorious as a walrus. I am glad. 
May he have contracted chronic asthma from 


that hour ! I learn with a fiendish joy that these 
tinselled warriors are no more than a spurious 
soldiery, buckram champions, companies of 
tailors and wig-makers, and what not. And 
now an awful retribution is at hand, for British 
endurance will be no longer tried, but collecting 
itself for an effort, bursts through the line, 
sweeps away portly commander, and charges 
triumphantly at the door. Sing lo Paean! sons 
of Albion ! Spanish senora is avenged. 


I HAVE been staying for the last month in the 
country, a hilly, stony, and rather fatiguing 
country in hot weather (when there is any). 
One day, my friend, whom, for convenience' 
sake, we will call Miss Brown, said to me, " You 
have observed the little spring of water which 
runs close to the hedge all the way from here 
to the village P I have been thinking it might 
be a good thing to place a spout at the top of 
the hill. There is no water to drink within a 
mile of the place without toiling up the hill." 

\\'it h some people, to believe that a thing is a 
good thing is the first step towards doing it. In a 
few days, a brick layer was employed at the spring. 
A small square tank was built to catch the water 
as it fell, one side being lower than the other 
three, so that the water overflowed, and still 
continued its course towards the village. Two 
earthenware pipes were placed through the 
embankment of the hedge, for the water came 
originally from a meadow on the other side. 
When it was finished it looked hideous; but 
this was to be expected. The bricklayer did 
the work he had contracted for, and unfor- 
tunately a little more; he cut away all the 
brambles and ivies which would have ornamented 
the fountain. We at once gave up calling it 
by the latter name until it should be better 
looking. I rooted up periwinkles and ferns 
from other spots, and planted them round and 
above it, so as to hide the horrible bricks and 
mortar; We then drove to the nearest town 
to buy a pewter mug and a chain. The next 
morning I went down to the "spout," and 
desired the blacksmith to rivet the chain on to 
a stump which had been placed by the side of 
the tank. He laughed "to my nose," as the 
IVench say. " Do you expect the mug to re- 
main here a week ? Why, the boys will have he 

the boys of the village, I 

off directly. It's a deal too good for this kind 
of thing." "Not ' 
think," said I. 

I returned to the house, and repeated what 
the man had said ; but Miss Brown was not to 
be moved. Said she, "When I came here, two 
or three years ago, every one said to me, 'You 
will have no fruit in your garden, exposed as 
it is. You must build a high wall all the way 
round it ; the boys will eat all the fruit other- 
wise.' I have built no wall; but I have never 
missed any fruit. Go back, and have the chain 
and mug fixed. I confide in the honour of the 
dirty little boys." The chain and rang were : 
and that evening the spout was to be inaugurated. 

In driving through the village we men- 
tioned to several children that the mug was 
now at the tank, and that they might come up 
at six o'clock if they liked, and that ice should be 
there. Evidently there was a mystery about 
the concluding sentence, which was attractive 
to the children ; for fifty-four of them arrived at 
six o'clock in the evening. We were there, 
seated upon the bench which had been erected 
close to the tank, and concealing with our 
dresses some baskets of cakes. Miss Brown 
harangued the audienoe, telling them of the 
doubts communicated to us as to the safety of 
the mug, and reverting to the time when she 
had been warned to protect her fruit-garden 
from the boys of the village. " Do you see any 
high wall built round my garden ?" she asked. 
" No," the children answered. " I said," con- 
tinued Miss Brown, " I would sooner trrist the 
boys than place walls with broken bottles to 
keep them out ; and I have never known of a 
boy who has taken my fruit. So now, I trust 
the boys not to remove the mug; not to cut 
their names upon the bench ; not to throw dirt 
into the tank, because the tank, and the mug, 
and the bench are all provided for the comfort 
of the people of the place, and I give them into 
their care." 

Then, each in turn, beginning with ourselves, 
drank the health of the company from the 
spring, after which the cakes and a picture-book 
were given round to each of the children. Then, 
they played for an hour, refreshing themselves 
about every five minutes with draught's of water. 
I am sure gallons must have been drunk that 
day; and, after more cakes, gave three cheers 
for the fountain, and three for Miss Brown. 

If you had asked the children a few days later 
what they had thought of that little opening of 
the waters, you would have found how few shil- 
lings it takes to give an immense amount of 
pleasure. It was a fete to them, and I believe 
such an inauguration as will be the protection 
of the pewter mug and chain. The critical 
week had passed before I left ; two weeks, three 
weeks, and the mug was still there. By-and-by 
the spout acquired more the appearance of a 
fountain, as it gained little additional attentions 
from the villagers. Sometimes flowers were 
gathered and placed over it, sometimes green 
branches, or fern-leaves, and even little roots 
were planted to hide more of the bricks and 

We all wish that we could do something for 
the benefit of others. Who can calculate the 
benefit done by the erection of such a fountain 
and resting-place as this ? It is all very well to 
cry down the use of beer, and to cry out against 
drunkenness; but I reckon that the man or 
woman who gives to the people water does more 
than a hundred who abuse them for drinking 
beer. There is a statistical little girl in the 
village, who takes great delight in reporting 
to us the number of people daily found sitting 
upon Miss Brown's bench, or drinking out of 
Brown's mug. 

The erection of the bench cost thirteen shil- 

116 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted uy 

lings, the building of the fountain, at a rough 
calculation, rather over than under seventeen 



SINCE China has a coast extending from the 
frozen shores of Siberia to the hot Tonquin 
Gulf, and since the Chinese are prolific and 
commercial, the Chinamen of course make many 
sailors. Coast alone, however much there may 
be of it, does not make a seafaring people. 
There must be good harbours ; and the best har- 
bours in the world are to be found in China. 
The Yellow River and the Blue River afford 
havens in which a hundred navies might ride 
without risk ; and these rivers afford such means 
of communication with the interior as can be 
found nowhere else in Asia or Europe. These 
enormous arteries, rising in the Thibeto-Tar- 
tar mountains, have a clear course of more 
than three thousand miles before they reach the 
sea, and each of them is navigable for above 
two thousand miles, the Blue River being a 
mile and a half wide at the distance of a thou- 
sand miles inland. Then, when we consider that 
the same river is twenty one miles wide where 
it flows into the sea, or equal in breadth to the 
Straits of Dover, we have some idea of the 
chances given by nature to the Chinese mariner. 
Now, let us see what use he has made of them : 

The merchants of Houg-kong show pictures 
of China as it was when the Portuguese first 
built their factories, and other pictures of the 
harbour of Canton taken in the early part of 
the last century. The first of these come 
from Macao; the last were saved from the 
Hongs burned by Yen when the Canton dis- 
turbances broke out. These pictures are not 
worth anything as works even of Chinese art, 
but their literal truthfulness makes them a 
mirror in which we may look at a Chinese port 
and its shipping, not only as it exists at present, 
but as it existed in the days of our forefathers, 
and of their forefathers. There are the same 
tea-boats, and junks, and lorchas, and dragon 
craft, and sampans, and gaudy mandarin boats 
flaming with blue, crimson, and yellow, that we 
may see any day at the mouth of any Chinese 
river where commerce is flourishing. And such as 
the Portuguese factors and the English founders 
of the Hongs beheld them, such as we Foreign 
Devils now behold them, even such did they ap- 
pear to Marco Polo and Tavernier, and to those 
old Arab voyagers, whose word-pictures of the 
unchanging race have been handed down since 
a time earlier than the Crusades. There are 
some slight alterations to be allowed for, it is 
true, since these old perspectiveless daubs were 
produced ; but those changes are not of Celestial 
origin. The difference is in the European ship- 
ping sketched together with the junks. No 
more high poops, no more round Dutch sterns 
and flat sides ; the broad stern, the forecastle 
(really a castle in the old Macao pictures), the 
roundhouse, and the trim of the rigging, have 
all been transformed. The paddle and screw 

steamers, the long black clippers, with their 
giant spars and knife-like bows, are new. We 
children of Europe have been awake and at 
work since that departed artist drew the bustle 
and stir of a Chinese harbour, but our friend 
with the pigtail has been simply twirling round 
and round in the same narrow circle, like a 
squirrel in a cage. And this for no want of ex- 
perience. The crowd of shipping at one of 
their great commercial ports is most notable, 
not only for its quaint aspect, for the mass of 
blended colours it presents, and the thick stir 
of life upon it, but because it is really a vital 
part of the whole Chinese system. The China- 
man has lost ground in everything but his mar- 
vellous industry and his keen mother wit. He 
knows better than you can tell him that his em- 
peror is a blindfolded pedant, his mandarin a 
cheat, his army a rabble of half-fed cowards, 
his religion a bundle of hollow ceremonies 
or a string of proverbs. He knows, too, 
though he will not always confess it, that the 
old and peculiar civilisation of China gives way, 
when opposed to European skill, as porcelain 
breaks against iron. But he still cares most to 
be a producer and a trafficker ; he wants the true 
stuff of which patriots are made. Let us sup- 
pose ourselves in such a scene at the mouth of 
the Yang-tse, or of its yellow rival at Canton, 
Amoy, Shanghai all the ports alike in the main 
features. Wherever men buy and sell, John 
Chinaman knows how to pick up a living. We 
do not attend much to the tall-masted American 
clippers, the bluff " tea- waggons " of country 
ships from Indian dockyards, the crowd of 
steamers and sailing vessels that swim under 
the English union-jack, though our eyes cannot 
help resting a little on the square yards and 
white decks, and whiter rows of hammocks, of 
one of our gallant ships of war. The interest 
of the scene centres in a fleet of deeply laden 
junks of all sizes, and unlimited in number, that 
lie moored together. At the first glance, they 
seem to be mere burlesques of naval architec- 
ture, with their flush decks, high sterns, prepos- 
terous bows plastered with paint and gold leaf, 
and with the queer sails and stumpy masts that 
seem to be hardly suited for a fishing-smack. 
Then, if the craft be small, or a fresh-water ves- 
sel from some town in the far interior, the 
anchors are very likely to be great stones, or at 
the best an awkward hook made of three logs of 
ironwood knit together with brass hoops, hard 
enough certainly, and heavy enough, but unfit 
to bite into any anchoring ground except the 
deep mud of a Chinese river. When, however, 
the eye loses its prejudices, we can own that 
the " lines " in these vessels are very tolerably 
laid down. A modern clipper's lines are better, 
but the Great Harry, once the pride of our Eng- 
lish navy, and even the flag-ship Benbow sailed 
in, were laid down on a worse principle. The 
stem is sharper than we had supposed at first, 
the counter cleaner, and the power of the helm 
not small or slowly answered to. For moderate 
weather and lightish winds, the junk answers 
fairly enough. It is in a cyclone, when the 



OoTombrlO,lO.J 117 

wind is tearing up the sea, and clouds and 
waves, and gale, as we near the vortex, get all 
mixed together in wild hubbub of air and water 
that the mind put into a wcatherly European 
ship comes out, and the junk, water-logged and 
pooped, goes helplessly to the bottom. 

are very splendid junks, owned by le- 
viathan merchants, the props of the opium 
trade, or the tea trade, or silk trade, or birds'- 
nest and seaweed trade, or possibly of that 
Canton cotton guild which offered to stake 
thirty thousand pounds sterling on our second 
repulse from the Peiho forts. Often these 
junks are as roomy as one of our own old 
"Jackass" frigates and, with very considerable 
stowage for cargo, have exceedingly gorgeous 
cabins for the owner and captain : as fine, 
indeed, as they are to be made with paint, 
tinsel, and carving. Such cabins are very 
luxurious affairs indeed ; they have silk curtains 
and ottomans, delicate mats, and carpets of the 
yellow wool (for it is more like wool than hair) 
of the Tartar yftk, furniture inlaid with mother- 
of-pearl, coral, and crystals of different colours, 
and pillars and window-lattices of carved ivory 
so elaborately worked as to look like point lace. 
Round mirrors of polished metal, great old 
porcelain vases made at Nankin and Soug-tcheou 
m the palmy days of the now degenerate manu- 
facture, jars full of wonderful flowers, flags em- 
broidered with amazing prodigality of toil and 
gold thread, astonish the European who visits 
Bis acquaintance Cliing, or Chang, or Ho-Sin, on 
board one of these floating palaces. Sometimes 
the pavilion is ornamented by a row of the 
gilded and hideous effigies of the owner's an- 
cestors, standing in richly carved niches, and 
these are not seldom mistaken for idols: a mistake 
the more pardonable because there are generally 
incense-lamps kept steaming in front of the 
images, and their heads are usually adorned with 
fresh garlands of the choicest flowers. In junks 
of this class you may even see a Kttle pagoda, 
flaunting with red flags and glowing with paint, 
sprout out of the deck, like a strange excres- 
cence. Within it, is an image of Buddha, fright- 
ful and bejewelled, with two yellow-faced 
bonzes, who trim the lamps that burn before 
the idol. This is rare, however, though we often 
see a small image of Buddha let into a niche 
beneath the compass, handy to receive worship 
from any Buddhist sailor. 

The compass is never absent from a sea-going 
junk. The Chinese are proud of the honour of 
its discovery, and it is a pride which has now 
lasted them four thousand years, by their own 
showing. They still prefer their original com- 
pass to more perfect European instruments, and 
in a handsome junk the whole binnacle arrange- 
ment has very much the air of an altar. It is 
tinselled and flowered, has a silken drapery for 
grand occasions, and, in a niche opposite to the 
little bronze Buddha, displays the elligy of i'ei-ho, 
the inventor of all central civilised arts, with a 
small slice of the tche-chy, or loadstone, hang- 
ing like a talisman round his neck, while a huge 
painted lantern dangles from above. To do the 

Chinese justice, though their compass is a pri- 
mitive one, they know how to make good use of 
it, and they guard the precious needle from de- 
flection with most jealous care. They are espe- 
cially averse on this account to iron cannon, 
iron anchors, wire ropes, iron chains, or any 
other masses of iron, which must not be per- 
mitted to approach the sacred compass. Before 
our navy had adopted the process of " swin<*- 
ing" an outward-bound ship, was perfectly 
well known in China. In the same way, the 
modern plan of dividing the hull into water- 
tight compartments has been practised by the 
Chinese time out of mind, and has saved many a 
valuable freight from being spoiled, and many a 
crew from drowning, ages before our ship-buil- 
ders had dreamed of such an innovation. Indeed 
it is curious to think how active the inventive 
faculty in China must at some past time have 
been, and how early its progress must have been 
arrested. When our ancestors had no vessels 
more trustworthy than wicker coracles covered 
with hides, the Chinese junks were as we see 
them now. 

Going forward along the clean decks, and 
passing the bamboo hatches of the enormous 
hold, we come to the dens of the sailors. It is 
wonderful to see the narrow airless holes in 
which those sailors contrive to live, and laugh 
and cook, and smoke, and sleep. The atmo- 
sphere when they are below decks is nearly as 
dreadful as that of a slaver, yet the broad-faced 
muscular fellows, in their rattan hats and dirty 
cottons, appear to be happy, vigorous, and light- 
hearted, as they boil their mess of rice and beans, 
or stew the fish they have just hauled up with 
those many-hooked lines that are hanging all 
about the bows, or as they dreamily puff at their 
tiny opium-pipes. Probably there is to be heard 
towards the forecastle the noise of a tom-tom, or 
drum-gong, and a portion of the crew is to be 
found siuging and dancing, or, perhaps, going 
through some low comedy performance, with 
their own native aptitude for mimicry. They 
are absolutely amphibious ; this is the case with 
the whole population of the river banks and 
sea-coast ; and I have more than once wondered 
at the feats of diving they perform, when any- 
thing has been dropped overboard. To swim and 
dive are not accomplishments among the Chinese 
mariners ; their wonder is all for the awkward- 
ness of European seamen. Very many of our sea- 
men and marines do not swim at all, and a skilful 
diver is as rare on board one of our inen-of-war 
as a black swan in Rome. Not only do the 
Chinese sailors, and the fishers, and the water- 
men, swim and dive like so many rats, but every 
member of the myriads of families whose float- 
ing abodes, arks swarming with life, are to be 
seen on all the rivers and canals, is thoroughly 
at home in water, even to the very young 
children, who, although they are buoyeii up with, 
gourds and bladders as precaution against acci- 
dent, can often swim much better than they 
walk. Accordingly, it is not easy to drowu 
a Chinaman in sight of land. 

The wages of a Chinese sailor are not high ; 

118 [November 10, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

they are lower, indeed, than those of a common 
Lascar ; and the Chinaman is more easily fed and 
satisfied than the dark-skinned Hindoo, while in 
robust make and muscular power he is far su- 
perior. Indeed, he is not at all worse than 
the Krooman of Western Africa, who is justly 
valued. I could often have fancied, while 
watching a gang of sturdy Chinese hauling at a 
rope, that I was observing Dutch or Danish 
sailors at their work. There is the same mus- 
cular power, the same solidity of build, and 
the same apparent relish of exertion a rare 
thing in Asiatics. European seamen desert to 
get work in smugglers, in the schooners and 
tug-boats belonging to native merchants, and 
so forth, and are preferred by the native em- 
ployers because they can fight. The Chinese 
sailor will not fight for his countrymen, yet he 
will work for his countrymen, and for his 
countrymen only ! This is a very curious 
fact. I have repeatedly inquired of English 
and American mates and masters, why the 
robust and money-loving Chinese could not be 
made at least as useful as the effeminate Las- 
cars, who compose a great part of every India- 
man's crew, and who are managed through 
native serangs. The answer always has been, 
" The Chinamen won't work for us." And 
yet how heartily the Coolies work for English 
cash, on shore ! If Chinamen work for the 
money of the foreign devils when ashore, why 
not afloat : Fear of mutiny may make our 
merchant captains less eager to have a Ce- 
lestial ship's company, and certainly such fear 
has grounds. The Chinaman, whose pay is 
but a string of copper sapecks, and whose 
rations are a mess of rice and oil, would 
be invaluable, if he could be trusted to keep 
out of conspiracies and do his fair share of 
the work. Severity fails to compel obe- 
dience. A Yankee skipper, who was going 
to return to Boston short-handed, gave me 
a hint on this score, when I asked him why 
he did not hire Chinese. After suggestion of 
the certainty of throat-cutting on the high 
seas, unless he and his mates had an eye 
always on the Mongolian part of the crew, the 
worthy skipper came to the wilful idling, and 
closed with the provoking hopelessness of the 
case, "For," he said, "if you lambast the 
critters, it is a fact, they'll drown theirselves 
jist to spite you." The phrase is hardly an 
exaggeration, such is the recklessness of life in 
this strange prayerless race, and such the fre- 
quency of suicide among the lower class on 
what we should call light provocation. There 
always are Chinese on board the opium vessels, 
but there, too, they carry out the strange 
doctrine of working only for Chinamen, and 
fighting only for Europeans. They ship as 
cooks, pilots, canoe-men, and so forth, but 
do not help in the regular duty of working 
the vessel. Yet, when a brush occurs between 
an imperial junk and one of these fleet smug- 
glers, the sleek-skinned subjects of the emperor 
assist with hearty good will to run out and 
point the guns which are to fling grape and 

round shot among the crews of the mandarin 

The fishermen are busy and numerous in 
Chinese harbours, They paddle briskly off to 
sheltered creeks and smooth bays, where there 
is a chance of circumventing sturgeon, highly 
valued by the Chinese of rank, who love caviare 
as the Russians love it. Also, they are very 
adroit in spearing the many kinds of great flat- 
fish which glide along the shallows, and at other 
times you see them for hours patiently baiting 
and lowering their long lines, and unhooking 
the many strange and gaudy fishes of all colours 
and shapes, from the circular parrot-fish to the 
opal ray, which Eastern seas contain. In China, 
there is an excellent market for fish always ; in- 
deed, so there is for pork, and all cereals, fruits, 
and vegetables, besides seaworms and slugs, 
and plump rats : for nothing comes amiss where 
there are so many million mouths to feed. Be- 
sides the fishermen, there are sampans, tub- 
boats, and bamboo rafts of yet humbler preten- 
sions, eternally plying around the European 
vessels and the flotilla of junks, to offer for 
sale oranges, water-melons, calabash-bowls and 
bottles, jars of wine from Tse-tchouen, and fiery 
rice-distilled samshu from the lower provinces, 
with ducks and geese that scream and flutter 
as their proprietors hold them up by the feet 
for scrutiny. Others have come out to tempt 
the Fanqu'is with more attractive curiosities : 
porcelains, brocades, fairy carvings in ivory, fans 
of paper, bamboo, mother-of-pearl, or silk and 
tinsel, bells, bronze idols, parroquets, pigeons 
of rare breeds, and fishing cormorants war- 
ranted to supply the larder. Some of these 
boats are full of half-naked creatures who 
look scarcely human, as they leer under their 
tattered straw hats ; others, contain Chinamen 
of imposing presence, fat men in flowing 
robes, silky tails, musk-scented, and flowery of 
speech ; but all have the same long narrow eyes, 
those unutterably cunning Mongolian eyes, in 
which no emotion can be traced, and which ex- 
press nothing except astuteness. These floating 
stall -keepers hang chiefly about the European 
ships, although they are often roughly ordered 
to sheer off by some vigilant mate, who doubts 
the security of unconsidered trifles such as 
coils of rope, metal bolts, chains, paint-pots, 
and spare sails. The fishermen, too, are not 
exactly encouraged to lie under the bends, or 
close to the rudder-pins, in their buoyant canoes, 
with the long lines trailing out. 

The science of thieving flourishes here well. 
After dusk, not only do light sampans, bound on 
no honest errand, steal like water-snakes in and 
about the fleet of merchantmen, but powerful 
swimmers, sometimes with a couple of bladders 
tied to their necks as aids to them in carrying 
off heavy goods, will hover round the ships, 
scarcely distinguishable from floating logs or 
gourds. The supple agility with which these 
gentry know how to slip through an open port 
or cabin window, is only equalled by the stealthy 
way in which they rifle lockers and trunks, glide 
from berth to berth, and draw a watch or purse 

Cbirle* Diekni.] 


[NoT*mbr 10, I860.] 119 

from beneath the pillow of the lightest sleeper. 
Even if detected, they are hard to catcli ami 
harder still to hold, for they flit away like sha- 
dows ; and their naked limbs, slippery with fish 
oil, arc as lithe and slimy as the surface of an 
eel. Then they plunge fearleisly, diving and 
swimming under water in a way to make the 
very otters envious. Nothing is mean enougli 
to be beneath the notice of these sharp adven- 
t uivrs ; clothes hung in the rigging to dry, loose 
sails on the booms, poultry in the boats : even 
chain cable they will file through, and buoying 
i! up ingeniously with calabashes, tow it on 
shore. If they liave any special weakness, it is 
for the copper off ships' bottoms. Copper is of 
much value in China; the chief supplies of it 
ooine from Japan, and the uses of it are count- 
less. The thieves, swimming round a vessel, rip 
the sheeting off with files and chisels, and will 
often escape with as much copper as will keep 
them in rice and samshu for months. When the 
rasping noise betrays them, they make off with 
all speed, diving like ducks at the flash of every 
gun levelled against them. They do not always 

S:t off scathless. Only one was killed while I 
y at Shanghai, but afterwards, in the mouth of 
the Canton river, I saw two wretches perish 
miserably in the water, shot by the mates of an 
American brig whose copper they had been try- 
ing to purloin. They are always fired upon with 
as little scruple as if they were wharf rats ; that 
being held to be the only practical method of 
dealing with marauders. Theoretically, they 
are given up, on capture, to be punished by their 
own authorities. 

It must not be supposed that the Chinese 
waters are without police. A gaudy dragon- 
boat, painted of all colours, comes flashing 
through, the waves, like a bright kingfisher, and 
darts as swiftly as a dozen oarsmen can propel 
her. She is gilded as well as painted, she is 
wonderfully crank of build, fitter for speed than 
safety, and, on little bamboo staffs there flutter 
all about her, little flags of blood-red silk. Her 
head is carved into a dragon's head with open 
jaws, hissing tongue, and fiery eyes. She has a 
cannon mounted amidships, and would be shaken 
to pieces by the recoil, did the gunner dare to 
use his linstock. Often the cannon is a mere 
" quaker" of painted wood or paper, admirably 
wrought. In any case there are some musicians 
crouched in the thwarts, making a hideous noise 
with their wild instruments; there is the imperial 
ensign flaunting from a lofty pole ; and under an 
awnmg more or less rich, there yawns and lolls 
in the stern sheets, a mandarin, fanned by two 
attendants, whose pheasant feathers and red 
robes mark them as police. The mandarin is an 
inferior mandarin, or he would scarcely put his 
sacred person in such jeopardy as to skim to 
and fro in so narrow and unsafe a boat. The 
rowers, indeed, are sure to reach the shore in 
case of an upset, but it would be too much to 
expect of a lettered Chinese that he should 
swim. Moreover, the mandarin must be a 
" copper button" official of the humblest class, 
or his boat would be longer and better manned. 

Tln-n: are dragon-boats pulling twenty-four oars, 
veritable sea-serpents, shooting through smooth 
waters like an ancient galley, with fine silken 
pavilions over their stern-sheets, superb banners, 
enormous lanterns of coloured paper, and R party 
of marine veterans, who not only have match- 
locks, but can actually use them. The mandarin 
of such a boat is probably a ninth-class man or 
B.L. of the Pekin University, and is the port 
inspector's secretary. He is the terror of the 
fishermen and of the yam-sellers and washer- 
men, but he is not very formidable in the eyes 
of thieves. The boats of commerce and petty 
industry all make way for the dragon-boat, as 
sheep nuddle together when a dog appears. 
The deputy-magistrate is charged with the pro- 
tection of the emperor's revenue, as well as of 
property, philosophy, and good morals in general, 
and he has keen scent for a smuggler not for 
a smuggler on a grand scale though. 

An opium clipper is not often meddled with, 
unless some war junk's crew is several months 
in arrear of pay, and, growing mutinous and 
fierce, is pacified by their commander with an 
assault on some rich contraband vessel. The 
retail offenders get little mercy, if caught, 
and clever as the Chinese are in their hidings, 
the mandarins have a rare skill also in such 
thief-catching as they undertake. It is dif- 
ficult to escape by mere flight, for the dragon- 
boat spins along with a speed like that of a col- 
lege racing-eight, and the only hope of a fugitive 
junk is to get out to sea, where, if there are 
waves of any size at all, the dragon-boat knows 
better than to follow. Pirates always resist, 
and generally win the battle. The floating 
arks, of which whole streets are always 
moored together, are under strict scrutiny of 
the " copper buttoned " official and his myrmi- 
dons. The dragon-boat rushes among them, a 
pike among minnows, frightening them almost 
as much, for authority is awful, even when it 
wears a copper button, and few men are abso- 
lutely certain, in China, that the law has not 
some hold on them for real or mock offences. 
You see the mandarin helped out of bis boat, 
sow and again, by his obsequious attendants ; 
you see him enter these poor marine dwellings, 
while the owner kneels on the threshold, with 
his hands held up to his eyes, as if dazzled by 
the radiance of the copper button. The cla- 
morous women and children leave off making a 
noise, and the whole ark is hushed while the 
literary iack-in-office makes his domiciliary 
visit. There are so many possible accusations 
about opium, smuggled gunpowder, theft, secret 
societies, and little frauds, that the mandarin is 
sure of his bribe, and the policemen are sure of 
their bribes : even the rowers and musicians are 
sure of their extorted drink of fiery spirit or hot 
wine, with perhaps a day's consumption of 
tobacco. If the mandarin does not come out 
of the ark a richer man than he went in, by 
a few cash or pistareens at least, the family 
must be wretchedly poor or most conspicuously 
innocent and obstinate. These harbour in- 
spectors and their subalterns used, before 1840, 



[November 10, I860.] 

sorely to torment foreigners. The dragon- 
boats were always buzzing about an English 
ship, like teasing flies, and when one rogue 
was bribed away, another started up. But 
the war settled that matter. A mandarin of 
that class now stands in such awe of the consul's 
complaints, that he knows it would be as much 
as his cap of office is worth, to intrude, un- 
licensed on an European captain, besides his risk 
of being bundled over the side with little cere- 
mony. On shore, the copper and crystal but- 
toned dignitaries areas arrogant as ever, but they 
do not venture beneath the shadow of Euro- 
pean or United States bunting. 

The large war-junks are decidedly inferior in 
sailing qualities to the junks of commerce, and 
built chiefly with regard to the officers' comfort. 
They have roundhouses, pavilions, and should 
the captain be a devoutBuddhist, as many Tartars 
are a pagoda on deck, constructed, as the taste 
of the occupants may prompt, of bamboo, timber, 
chunam, or firm masonry. The stumpy masts, the 
square sails of matting, the lofty poops covered 
with lanterns and carving, and the absurd prows, 
make these vessels unfit to face the open sea. 
Accordingly, they haunt creeks and rivers, 
preferring fresh water to salt, and depending 
much more on their double or triple banks of 
oars than on their sails. According to the 
Official Pekin Almanack, there exist four hun- 
dred and fifty war-junks of the largest size, di- 
vided into four squadrons, and distinguished as 
the blue, white, yellow, and red. Besides 
these, there are nineteen hundred dragon-boats, 
fire-ships, block-ships, and smaller craft in gene- 
ral, said to be manned by forty-one thousand 
sailors : a number possibly not very much ex- 
aggerated. The commanders of the war-junks 
are military mandarins timid in general, after 
the usual fashion of Tartars, when a sea-voyage 
is concerned and mostly thieves. Often a com- 
mander sells his brass-guns to a native dealer, 
and buys worthless European ordnance sold as 
old iron. The sailors are never rightly paid, 
but they get rice and fish, and perquisites 
screwed out of the nation ; for they, too, are men 
in a little brief authority, and have their ways 
of plunder. They are splendid rowers. Indeed 
no toil at the oar seems too much for a China- 
man, if you only feed him, and encourage him 
with tom-toms and flageolets and singing and 
buffoonery. So stimulated, he will row all 
day gaily and well. The war-junks have given 
more trouble to the Taiping rebels than the 
land troops : not because of the courage of 
their crews, but because of the difficulty of 
reaching them, while, if the captains are poor 
navigators, they are first-rate artists in fire- 
works. Most of the Chinese victories over the 
barbarous tribes on their borders have been 
due to their rockets and red-fire. They are 
very ingenious in the use of fire-ships and ex- 
plosive raffs, and in the manufacture of com- 

pounds which explode with horrible smells and 
smothering smoke. It takes nothing less than 
European discipline to prevent any fleet from 
being set on fire by the shoals of combustibles 
sent floating down the tide in war-time. If a 
country could be saved by Roman candles and 
Catherine wheels, China might defy the arms of 
united Europe. 

It is very pleasant to watch one of the re- 
gular fleets of trading junks returning from 
Siam and the Irrawaddy with <its cargoes of 
birds'-nests, skins, feathers, spices, sea slugs, 
dried fish, and other dainties. Steadily and 
pleasantly the vessels bowl along, before a 
moderate wind, through a sparkling sea, alive 
with flotillas of the nautilus, and weeds, and 
fish of every size and shape. The lines are 
always out, for so thrifty a race never neg- 
lects an opportunity of hooking something, 
and the sailors save their rations at the ex- 
pense of the fishes. The awkward sails draw 
pretty well, for. the wind is right astern, and 
the solemn pig-tailed smoker, in rattan cap 
and thick-soled shoes, who holds the tiller, 
has an easy time of it. The captain shares 
his snug cabin with the supercargo : an im- 
portant person, probably a literary graduate 
and cousin of the owner. Perhaps even the 
owner, that great merchant, is on board ; if 
so, he sits in solitary state in his pavilioa, 
glaring with dull eyes through the fumes of his 
opium pipe. He eats, and drinks hot wine and 
scalding tea, and smokes, throughout the voyage : 
only rousing himself in port, where there is 
buying and selling, and a penny to be turned. 
The captain, who has the sole charge of the 
navigation, can always take a solar observation, 
and can work a reckoning tolerably : though he 
loves to see the land whenever it is possible to 
hug the shore, and is unhappy if the stars are 
lost at night behind the clouds. Logarithms do 
not concern him, for Chinese mathematics do 
not recognise discoveries, and " circle sailing" is 
outside the Chinaman's world altogether. Bat 
give him a smooth sea, and a wind right astern, 
then he will glide along, safe and placid. 



Will be commenced 




To be continued from week to week until completed 
in about EIGHT MONTHS. 



The rif/ht of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAH ROUND is reserved by the Authors, 

Published at the Office. No. 26, Wellington Street, Strand. Printed by C. WIMTIXO. Braufort HOG, Stranrt. 







[PaiCE 2 



I AM about to make a very original observa- 
I hope its truth may equal its originality. 
li is, th:it. ilu- inuu who has never had a sister, 
is, at his first entrance into life, far more the 
slave of feminine captivations, than lie who has 
been brought up in a " house full of girls." 
" Oh, for shame, Mr. Potts ! Is this the gal- 
lantry we have heard so much of ? Is this the 
spirit of that chivalrous devotion you have been 
incessantly impressing upon us ?" Wait a mo- 
ment, fair creature; give me one half-minute 
for an explanation. He who has not had sisters, 
has had no experiences of the behind-sceue life 
of the female world ; he has never heard one 
sylinblc about the plans, and schemes, and 
d'cvices by which hearts are snared. He fancies 
M;iry stuck that moss-rose in her hair in a mo- 
ment of childish caprice; that Kate ran after 
her little sister and showed the prettiest of 
ankles iu doing it, out of the irrepressible gaiety 
of her buoyant spirits. In a word, he is one 
who only sees the play when the house is fully 
lighted, and all the actors in their grand cos- 
tume ; he has never witnessed a rehearsal, and 
lias not the very vaguest suspicion of a prompter. 

To him, therefore, who has only experienced 
the rough companionship of brothers or worse 
still, has lived entirely alone the first ac- 
quaintanceship with the young-lady world is 
such a fascination as no words can describe. 
The gentle look, the graceful gestures, the 
silvery voices, all the play and action of natures 
so infinitely more refined than any he has ever 
witnessed, arc inexpressibly captivating. It is 
not alone the occupations of their hours, light, 
graceful, and picturesque as they arc, but all 
their topics, their thoughts, seem to soar out of 
that common-place world he has lived in, and 
rise to ideal realms of poetry and beauty. I say 
it advisedly : I do not Know of anything so truly 
Elysian in life as our first our very first ex- 
periences of this kind. 

\Vert her's passion for Charlotte received a 
powerful impulse from watching her as she cut 
bread-and-butter for the children. There are 
vulgar natures who will smile at this ; who can- 
not enter into the intense far-sightedness of 
that poetic conception; that couhfin one trait 
of simplicity embody a whole lifetime with its 

ennobling duties, its cheerful sacrifices, its grace- 
fully borne cares. Let him, therefore, who 
could sneer at Werther, scoff at Potts, as he 
owns that he never felt his heart so powerfully 
drawn to Kate Herbert as when he watched her 
making tea for breakfast. Dressed in a muslin 
that represented mourning, her rich hair plainly 
enclosed in a net, with a noiseless motion, 
she glided about, an ideal of gentle sadness, 
more fascinating than I can tell. If she bore 
any unpleasant memory of our little difference, 
she did not show it ; her manner was calm and 
even kind. She felt, perhaps, that some com- 
pensation was due to me lor the rudeness of 
that old woman, and was not unwilling to 
make it. 

" You know we are to rest here to-day ?" 
said she, as she busied herself at the table. 

" I heard it by a mere chance, and from the 
courier," said I, peevishly. "I am not quite 
certain in what capacity Mrs. Keats conde- 
scends to regard me, that I am treated with 
such scant courtesy. Probably you would be 
kind enough to ascertain this point for me ?" 

" I shall assuredly not ask," said she, with a 

" I certainly promised her brother I could 
not do less for a colleague, not to say something 
more that I'd see this old lady safe over the 
Alps. They are looking out for me anxiously 
enough at Constantinople all this while ; in fact, 
I suspect there will be a nice confusion there 
through my delay, and I'd not be a bit surprised 
if they begin to believe that stupid story in the 
Nord. I suppose you saw it ?" 

" No. What is it about ?" 

" It is about your humble servant, Miss 
Herbert, and hints that he has received one 
hundred purses from the sheiks of the Lebanon 
not to reach the Golden Horn before they have 
made their peace with the Grand Vizier." 

" And is of course untrue ?" 

" Of course, every word of it is a falsehood ; 
but there are " gobemouches" will believe any- 
thing. Mark my words, and see if this allegation 
be not heard in the House of Commons, ana some 
Tower Hamlets member start up to ask if the 
Foreign Secretary will lay on the table copies 
of the instructions given to a certain person, 
and supposed to be credentials of a nature to 
supersede the functions of our ambassador at 
the Porte. In confidence, between ourselves, 
Miss Herbert, so they are! I am entrusted 



122 [November 17, 1800.] 


[Conducted by 

with full powers about the Hatti Homayoum, as 
the world shall see in good time." 

" Do you take your tea strong ?" asked she ; 
and there was something so odd and so inoppor- 
tune in the question, that I felt it as a sort of 
covert sneer ; but when I looked up and beheld 
that pale and gentle face turned towards me, I 
banished the base suspicion, and forgetting all 
my enthusiasm, said, 

" Yes, dearest ; strong as brandy !" 

She tried to look grave, perhaps angry ; but 
in spite of herself, she burst out a laughing. 

" I perceive, sir," said she, " that Mrs. Keats 
was quite correct when she said that you appear 
to have moments in which you are unaware of 
what you say." 

Before I could rally to reply, she had poured 
out a cup of tea for Mrs. Keats, and left the 
room to carry it to her. 

" ' Moments in which I am unaware of what 
I say ' ' incoherent intervals ' Forbes Winslow 
would call them : in plain English, I am mad. 
Old woman, have you dared to cast such an as- 
persion on me, and to disparage me, too, in the 
quarter where I am striving to achieve success ? 
For her opinion of me I am less than indifferent ; 
for her judgment of my capacity, my morals, my 
manners, I am as careless as I well can be of 
anything ; but these become serious disparage- 
ments when they reach the ears of one whose 
heart I would make my own. I will insist on 
an explanation no, but an apology for this. 
She shall declare that she used these words in 
some non-natural sense that I am the sanest 
of mortals ; she shall give it under her hand 
and seal : ' I, the undersigned, having in a 
moment of rash and impatient judgment, im- 
puted to the bearer of this document, Algernon 

Sydney Potts ' No, ' Pottinger ' ha, there 

is a difficulty ! If I be Pottinger, I can never 
re-become Potts ; if Potts, I am lost or, 
rather, Miss Herbert is lost to me for ever. What 
a dire embarrassment ! Not to mention that in 
the passport I was Ponto !" 

"Mrs. Keats desired me to beg you will step 
up to her room after breakfast, and bring your 
account-books with you." This was said by 
Miss Herbert as she entered and took her place 
at the table. 

" What has the old lady got in her head ?" 
said I, angrily. " I have no account-books I 
never had such in my life. When I travel alone, 
I say to my courier, 'Diomede ' he is a Greek 
'Diomede, pay ;' and he pays. When Dio- 
mede is not with me, I ask, ' How much ?' and I 
give it." 

" It certainly simplifies travel," said she, 

"It does more, Miss Herbert: it accom- 
plishes the end of travel. Your doctor says, 
' Go abroad take a holiday turn your back on 
Downing-street, and bid farewell to cabinet 
councils.' Where is the benefit of such a course, 
I ask, if you are to pass the vacation cursing 
custom-house officers, bullying landlords, and 
browbeating waiters ? I say always, ' Give me a 
bad dinner if you must, but do not derange my 

digestion ; rather a damp bed than thorns in the 
pillow.' " 

"I am to say that you will see her, however," 
said she, with that matter-of-fact adhesiveness 
to the question that never would permit her to 
join me in my digressions. 

"That I go under protest, Miss Herbert 
under protest, and, as the lawyers say, without 
prejudice that is, that I go as a private gentle- 
man, irresponsible and independent. Tell her 
this, and say, I know nothing of figures : arith- 
metic may suit the Board of Trade; in the Foreign 
Department we ignore it. You may add, too, 
if you like, that from what you have seen of me, 
I am of a haughty disposition, easily offended, 
and very vindictive very !" 

" But I really don't think this," said she, with 
a bewitching smile. 

"Not to you, de " I was nearly in it 

again : " not to you" said I, stammering and 
blushing till I felt on fire. I suspect that she 
saw all the peril of the moment, for she left the 
room hurriedly, on the pretext of asking Mrs. 
Keats to take more tqa. 

" She is sensible of your devotion, Potts ; 
but is she touched by it ? Has she said to her- 
self, ' That man is my fate, my destiny it is 
no use resisting him ; dark and mysterious as he 
is, I am drawn towards him by an inscrutable 
sympathy' or is she still struggling in the toils, 
muttering to her heart to be still, and to wait ? 
Flutter away, gentle creature," said I, compas- 
sionately, " but ruffle not your lovely plumage 
too roughly ; the bars of your cage are not the 
less impassable that they are invisible. You 
shall love me, and you shall be mine !" 

To these rapturous fancies there now suc- 
ceeded the far less captivating thought of Mrs. 
Keats, and an approaching interview. Can any 
reader explain why it is that one sits in quiet 
admiration of some old woman by Teniers or 
Holbein, and never experiences any chagrin or 
impatience at trials which, if only represented 
in life, would be positively odious ? Why is it 
that art transcends nature, and that ugliness in 
canvas is more endurable than ugliness in the 
flesh ? Now, for my own part, I'd rather 
have faced a whole gallery of the Dutch school, 
from Van Eyck to Verhagen, than have con- 
fronted that one old lady who sat awaiting me 
in No. 12. 

Twice as I sat at my breakfast did Francois 
put in his head, look at me, and retire without 
a word. " What is the matter ? What do you 
mean?" cried I, impatiently, at the third intru- 

"It is madam that wishes to know when 
monsieur will be at leisure to go up-stairs to 

I almost bounded on my chair with passion. 
How was I, I would ask, to maintain any por- 
tion of that dignity with which I ought to sur- 
round myself if exposed to such demands as 
this ? This absurd old woman would tear off 
every illusion in which I draped myself. What 
availed all the romance a rich fancy could con- 
jure up, when that wicked old enchantress called 

Cbtrlei Ulckeni.] 


[Xovcmbw 17. 18M.] 123 

me to her presence, and in a voice of thunder 
said, " Strip oft' these masquerading, Potts, I 
know the whole story." " Ay, but," thought 1, 
' she cannot do so ; of me and my antecedents 
she knows positively nothing." " Halt there !" 
inii rposos Conscience; "it is quite enough to 
pronounce the coin base without being able to 
say at what mint it was fabricated. She knows 
you, Potts, she knows you !" 

There is one great evil in castle-building, 
and I have thought very long and anxiously, 
and I must own fruitlessly, over how to meet it : 
it is that one never can get a lease of the 
ground to build on. One is always, like an Irish 
cottier, a tenant at will, likely to be turned ont 
at a moment's notice, and dispossessed without 
pity or compassion. The same language applies 
to each : " You know well, my good fellow, you 
had no right to be there ; pack up and be off!" 
It's no use saying that it was a bit of waste 
land unfenced and unfilled; that, until you took 
it in hand, it was overgrown with nettles and 
duckweed; that you dispossessed no one, and 
such -like." The answer is still the same, 
" Where's your title ? Where's your lease ?" 

Now, I am curious to hear what injury I was 
inflicting on that old woman at No. 12 by any 
self-deceptions of mine ? Could the most exag- 
gerated estimate I might form of myself, my 
present, or my future, m any degree atfect her ? 
Who constituted her a sort of ambulatory con- 
science, to call people's hearts to account at a 
moment's notice ? It may be seen by the tone of 
these reflections, that I was fully impressed with 
the belief that through some channel, or by some 
clue, Mrs. Keats knew all my history, and intended 
to use her knowledge tyrannically over me. 

Oh, that I could only retaliate ! Oh, that I 
had only the veriest fragment of her past life, 
out of which to construct her whole story. Just 
as out of a mastodon's molar Cuvier used to 
build up the whole monster, never omitting a rib, 
nor forgetting a vertebra ! How I should like 
to say to her, and with a most significant sigh, " I 
knew poor Keats well !" Coula I not make even 
these simple words convey a world of accusation, 
blended with bitter sorrow and regret ? 

iis again, and on the same errand. 
<c Say, 1 am coming ; that I have only finished a 
hasty breakfast, and that I am coming this in- 
stant," cried I. Nor was it very easy for me to 
repress the more impatient expressions which 
struggled for utterance, particularly as I saw, or 
fancied I saw, the fellow pass his hand over his 
month to hide a grin at my expense. 

" Is Miss Herbert up-stairs ':" 

" No, sir, she is in the garden." 

This was so far pleasant. I dreaded the 
thought of her presence at this interview, and I 
felt that punishment within the precincts of the 
gaol was less terrible than on the drop before 
the populace ; and with this consoling reflection 
I mounted the stairs. 


I K.XOCKED twice before 1 heard the permis- 
sion to enter; but scarcely had I closed the 

door behind me, than the old lady advanced, and 
curtseying to me with a manner of most reve- 
rential politeness, said, " When you learn, sir, 
that my conduct has been dictated in the interest 
of your safety, you will, I am sure, graciously 
pardon many apparent rudenesses in my manner 
towards you, and only see in them, my zeal to 
serve you." 

I could only bow to a speech, not one syllable 
of which was in the least intelligible to me. 
She conducted me courteously to a seat, and 
only took her own after I was seated. 

" I feel, sir," said she, " that there will be no 
end to our embarrassments if I do not go 
straight to my object and say at once that I 
know yon. I tell you frankly, sir, that my bro- 
ther did not betray your secret. The instincts 
of his calling to him second nature were 
stronger than fraternal love, and all he said to 
me was, 'Martha, I have found a gentleman 
who is going south, and who, without incon- 
venience, can see you safely as fav as Como.' I 
implicitly accepted his words, and agreed to set 
out immediately. I suspected nothing I knew 
nothing. It was only before going down to dinner 
that the paragraph in the Courrier da Dimanche 
met my eye, and as I read it, I thought I should 
have fainted. My first determination was not 
to appear at dinner. I felt that something or 
other in my manner would betray my knowledge 
of your secret. My next was to go down and 
behave with more than usual sharpness. You 
may have remarked that I was very abrupt, 
almost, shall I say, rude ?" 

I tried to enter a dissent to this, but did not 
succeed so happily as I meant ; but she re- 
sumed : 

" At any cost, however, sir, I determined that 
I alone should be the depositary of your confi- 
dence. Miss Herbert is to me a comparative 
stranger ; she is, besides, very young ; she would 
be in no wise a suitable person to entrust with 
such a secret, and so I said, I will pretend ill- 
ness, and remain here for a day ; I will make 
some pretext of dissatisfaction about the ex- 
pense of the journey ; I will affect to have had 
some passing difference, and he can thus leave 
us ere ne be discovered. Not that I desire this, 
sir, far from it ; tliis is the brightest episode in a 
long life. I never imagined that I should have 
enjoyed such an honour ; but I have only to 
think of your safety, and if an old woman, un- 
observant, and uuremarking as myself, could 
penetrate your disguise, why not others more 
keen-sighted and inquisitive ': Don't you agree 
with me ?" 

"There is much force in what you say, 
madam," said I, with dignity, " and your words 
touch me profoundly." I thought this a happy 
expression, for it conveyed a sort of grand con- 
descension that seemed to hit off the occasion. 

" You would never guess how I recognised 
you, sir," said she. 

Never, madam." I could have given my 
oath to this, if required. 

Well," said she, with a bland smile, "it 
was from the resemblance to your mother !" 

[November 17, I960.] 


[Conducted by 


" Yes ; you are far more like her, than your 
father, and you are scarcely so tall as he was." 

" Perhaps not, madam." 

" But you have his manner, sir, the gracefu 
and captivating dignity that distinguished al' 
your house ; this would betray you to the eyes 
of all who have enjoyed the high privilege ol 
knowing your family." 

The allusion to our house showed that we 
were royalties, and I laid my hand on my 
heart, and bowed as a prince ought, blandly but 

" Ah, sir," said she, with a deep sigh, " youi 
present enterprise fills me with apprehension. 
Are you not afraid, yourself, of the conse- 
quences ?" 

I sighed, too, and if the truth were to be told, 
I was very much afraid. 

" But, of course, you are acting under advice, 
and with the counsel of those well able to guide 

" I cannot say I am, madam ; I am free to 
tell you, that every step I am now taking is 

" Oh, then, let me implore you to pause, sir," 
said she, falling on her knees before me, " let 
me thus entreat of you not to go further in a 
path so full of danger." 

" Shall I confess, madam," said I, proudly, 
"that I do not see these dangers you speak of." 

I thought that on this hint she would talk 
out, and I might be able to pierce the veil of the 
mystery, and discover who I was ; for though 
very like my mother, and shorter than my father, 
I was sorely puzzled about my parentage ; but 
she only went off into generalities about the 
state of the Continent, and the condition of 
Europe generally. I saw now that my best 
chance of ascertaining something about myself, 
was to obtain from her the newspaper that first 
suggested her discovery of me, and I said half 
carelessly, "Let me see the paragraph which 
struck you in the Courrier." 

" Ah, sir, you must excuse me, these ignoble 
writers have little delicacy in alluding to the 
misfortunes of the great ; they_ seem to revenge 
the littleness of their own station on every such 

" You can well imagine, madam, how time 
has accustomed me to such petty insults : show 
me the paper." 

" Pray let me refuse you, sir ; I would not, 
however blamelessly, be associated in your mind 
with what might offend you." 

Again I protested that I was used to such 
attacks, that I knew all about the wretched 
hireling creatures who wrote them, and that 
instead of offending, they positively amused me 
actually made me laugh. 

Thus urged, she proceeded to search for the 
newspaper, and only after some minutes was it 
that she remembered Miss Herbert had taken it 
away to read in the garden. She proposed to 
send the servant to fetch it, but this I would 
not permit, pretending at last to concur in her 
own previously expressed contempt for t lie para- 

graph but secretly promising myself to go in 
search of it the moment I should be at liberty 
and once more she resumed the theme of my 
rashness, and my dangers, and all the troubles I 
might possibly bring upon my family, and the 
grief I might occasion my grandmother. 

Now as there are few men upon whom the 
ties of family and kindred imposed less rigid 
bonds, I was rather provoked at being reminded 
of obligations to my grandmother, and was 
almost driven to declare that she weighed for 
very little in the balance of my plans and mo- 
tives. The old lady, however, rescued me from 
the indiscretion by a fervent entreaty that T 
would at least ask a certain person what he 
thought of my present step. 

" Will you do this ?" said she, with tears in 
her eyes. " Will you do it, now ?" 

I promised her faithfully. 

" Will you do it here, sir, at this table, and 
let me have the proudest memory in my life to 
recal the incident." 

" I should like an hour or two for reflection/' 
said I, pushed very hard by this insistauce of 
hers, for I was sorely puzzled whom I was to 
write to. 

" Oh !" said she, still tearfully, "is it not the 
habit of hesitating, sir, has cost your house so 
dearly ?" 

" No," said I, " we have been always ac- 
counted prompt in action and true to our en- 

Heaven forgive me ! but in this vainglorious 
speech I was alluding to the motto of the Potts' 
crest, " Vigilantibus omnia fausta ;" or, as some 
one rendered it, " Potts answers to the night- 

She smiled faintly at my remark. I wonder 
how she would have looked had she read the 
thought that suggested it. 

" But you tow write to him, sir ?" said she 
once more. 

I laid my hand over what anatomists call the 
region of the heart, and tried to look like Charles 
Edward in the prints. Meanwhile, my patience 
was beginning to fail me, and I felt that if the 
mystification were to last much longer I should 
infallibly lose my presence of mind. Fortunately, 
the old lady was so full of her theme that she 
only asked to be let talk away without interrup- 
tion, with many an allusion to the dear Count 
and the adored Duchess, aud a fervent hope 
that I might be ultimately reconciled to them 
both, a wish which I had tact enough to per- 
ceive required the most guarded reserve on my 

" I know I am indiscreet, sir," said she, at 
last ; " but you must pardon one whose zeal 
outruns her reason." 

And I bowed grandly, as I might have done 
in extending mercy to some captive taken in 

" There is but one favour more, sir, I have 
to beg." 

" Speak it, madam. As the courtier remarked, 
f it be possible it is done, if impossible it shall 
ae done." 

Charla D!cknO 


[Voreinbci-17, IHW.J 125 

\V<:!1, sir, it is that you will not ! 

till you hear from " " She hesitated, as if 

:il'raiil to say the name, and then added, "the 
Rue St. Georges. Will you give me this pledge ?" 

Now, though this would have been, all things 
considered, an arrangement very like to have 
I ii iy life, I could not help hesitating ere I 
uted, not to say that our dear friend of the 
St. Georges, whoever he was, might pos- 
sibly not concur in all the delusions indis- 
pensable to my happiness. I therefore demurred 
t hat is, in legal acceptance, I deferred assent 
as though to say, " We'll see." 

" At all events, sir, you'll accompany us to 

"You have my pledge to that, madam." 

" And meanwhile, sir, you agree with me that 
it is better I should continue to behave towards 
you with a cold and distant reserve." 

" Unquestionably." 

" Rarely meeting, seldom or never con- 

" I should say, never, madam ; making, in 
fact, any communication you may desire to reach 
me through the intervention of that young 
person I forget her name." 

.Miss Herbert, sir." 

"Exactly; and who appears gentle and un- 

" She is a gentlewoman by birth, sir," said the 
old lady, tetchily. 

" I have no doubt of it, madam, or she would 
not be found in association with you." 

She curtseyed deeply at the compliment, and 
I bowed as low, and backing and bowing I 
gained the door, dying with eagerness to make 
my escape. 

" Will you pardon me, sir, if, after all the agi- 
tation of this meeting, I may not feel equal to 
appear at dinner to-day ?" 

" You will charge that young person to give 
me news of your health, however," said I, insi- 
nuating that I expected to see Miss Herbert. 

" Certainly, sir ; and if it be your pleasure 
that she should dine with you, to preserve ap- 
pearances " 

" You are right, madam ; your remark is full 

of wisdom. I shall expect to meet her." And 

n i bowed low, and ere she recovered from 

another reverential curtsey, I had closed the 

door behind me, and was half way down stairs. 


FROM the tattooed and blue-dyed Briton of 
A.D. 45 to tin; llounccd and furbelowed finery of 
Charles the Second, Anne, and the Georges; 
from that flounced and furbelowed finery to our 
own simpler luxury, tailors and seamstresses have 
had a long way to go, and a series of tremendous 
revolutions to effect. All sorts of interests 
have been ruined in the process; all sorts of 
trades created only to be destroyed at the next 
turn of the wheel : button-makers, fringe- 
makers, ribbon-makers, silk weavers, barbers, 
boot-makers, spanglers, and bead-makers, have 
cried out piteously in turn as the inexorable 

course of Fashion swept down their workshops, 
and flung their wares to one side, branding 
them with that fatal mark " unfashionable," 
which rendered them useless and unsaleable for 
ever. But the tailors and the seamstresses, 
and that inexorable Fashion, marched on their 
appointed way, accompanied by the cries of 
hungry children and the ruin of families, which 
inaugurated every change that was made. A 
pitiful necessity, but one scarcely to be avoided 
by any royal enactments, sumptuary laws, or 
courtly patronage possible to be given. 

Mr. Fairholt tells us in his admirable and 
picturesque History of Costume, that the old 
Britons were not clothed only in paint pin- 
pricks, as it has pleased people to jay ; they 
had cloaks and mantles of the skins of beasts- 
the favourite was that of a brindled or spotted 
cow ; and after the Phoenicians had been to give 
them a few hints, they wove coarse cloths of 
wool and flax, which they dyed scarlet, and 
purple, and blue, and yellow, but which they 
always flung off in battle, and made themselves 
a dress by no means to be despised for comfort 
and elegance. Full loose braccae tied round the 
ankle with a cord and ending in a kind of fringe 
or frill above the foot ; a tunic reaching below 
the knee, and girt at the waist with aoelt ; a 
long classic-looking mantle, fastened at the neck 
or on the shoulder by a massive brooch ; a cap 
of the true Phrygian cut, and soft shoes or high- 
lows of untanuea leather, with the woolly side 
inward, completed a costume which the Bloomers 
of our own time, with more ill-luck than unreason, 
unconsciously copied as both graceful and con- 
venient. Li later days a Roman emperor him- 
self adopted a barbarian fashion of dress, and 
wore the caracalla, a tunic like our modern 
frock-coat, close fitting, and slit up before and 
behind as far as the waist. Aurelius Antoninus, 
who had been born in Gaul, where this garment 
was of common use, was wise enough to prefer 
usefulness to grace, so took to the tunic instead 
of the toga, and got the nickname of Caracalla 
for his pains ; but the Roman people gradually 
adopted this distinction as a matter of national 
costume, and the nickname and the laughter did 
nothing for the old toga-makers. It was a 
pity, perhaps, that the fashion had such an evil 
patron j but fashions have never been very re- 
gardful of morals in any shape. The Romans 
laughed at the British braccse, and, as all men 
follow their leaders, these useful articles of dress 
became discarded, to be afterwards replaced by 
swathes and bandages, and then by "brech," Oi - 
breeches proper, and hose. The ladies wore the 
" gwu," whence our modern gown, an upper 
tunic, a mantle, and a hood ; and at this period 
the Anglo-Saxon of the tenth century the 
British costume was all that could be desired 
for grace, chastcness, and simplicitv. But it 
was not a good working costume. 1'hose long 
sleeves and trailing robes, those sweeping folds 
and kingly majesty of drapery, did admirably for 
show, but not for use ; and for this reason we 
find the soldiers and husbandmen going back to 
less picturesque forms, till long gowns and cum- 

126 [NOTcmberl7,1860.] 


[Conducted by 

bersome mantles were left only to women, 
priests, kings, and nobles not " on active ser- 
vice," as representatives of the idle classes of 
society, with whom freedom of action was no 

As every man of the upper ranks was a warrior, 
and as dandyism is an instinct with men, arms 
and armour came in for the greatest number of 
changes, and took the place of the later gowns 
and tunics. No fine lady of later growth ever 
went beyond those grave old mediaeval knights in 
restlessness of finery or gorgeousness of display. 
They were never satisfied. Now the armour 
was trellised, now mascled, now tegulated, now 
scaled, now rustred, now of chain mail, now of 
plate ; the cap or helmet had now a nasal or 
nose-piece, which fashion was discontinued after 
the battle of Lincoln, when Stephen was seized 
by his nose-piece and held prisoner without 
being able to lielp himself; and then went on to 
barrels and kettles and inverted saucepans, and 
close-fitting nightcaps, and long beak-shaped 
vizors with eye-slits and breathing-holes, and 
little trap-doors for hearing, and a funnel at the 
top to hold the long waving plume of feathers. 
The offensive armour followed the same law of 
change and ornamentation, even to the gadlyngs 
on the steel gauntlets mightily like our present 
kmickle dusters which gadlyngs were origi- 
nally spikes on the finger-joints, and then grew 
into bosses in the shape of lions and leopards on 
the hand ; while the robe of idlesse, the house 
dress, showed a wantonness of fancy in shape 
and colour, and such a wantonness of expen- 
diture as called forth the severest sumptuary 
laws, which, however, no one attended to. In 
the time of Richard the Second, even the very 
serving-men trailed about in scarlet robes twenty 
yards wide, with sleeves " blazing like to cranes' 
wings," sweeping to the ground ; while the 
nobles wore their mantles and loose sleeves of 
cloth of gold, velvet, ermine, miniver, and all 
other extravagant materials in such excess of 
length and width as would startle the most un- 
conscientious court milliner living. The manner 
was as strange as the material. Edged with a fine 
bordering, leaf-shaped which fashion of robe the 
king disapproving for his subjects, declared for- 
feit to himself, with imprisonment during the 
royal pleasure for the unfortunate tailor who 
devised and served such ungodly fancies some- 
times parti-coloured, so that the body went into 
a quartering of various hues, like an elongated 
kaleidoscope stiff with golden needlework, and 
powdered with pearls the family arms blazoned 
on skirt and sleeve and tunic and mantle always 
fantastic in design, glaring in colour, and ruinous 
in cost, the house dress of the noble in the middle 
ages offers a wild variety of human costume, and 
shows the milliners and tailors of the day in the 
light of true inventors. But the boots the feet 
covering they and the head-dresses went beyond 
all else in extravagance and no-meaningness. The 
old good soft shoes of untanned leather, which 
must have been deliciously comfortable, were 
soon set aside, and then came vagaries in scarlet, 
and green, and blue, embroidered in gold and 

precious stones ; some, with a fretwork of gold, 
and a golden lion or fleur-de-lis in each square ;, 
some, with large rose-windows ; some in geo- 
metric patterns of various designs such as Mr. 
Owen Jones would have loved ; some, starred , 
some, banded along and across ; some, of one 
simple colour bound with black ; some, parti-co- 
loured ; and others with one foot blue and the 
other red; one white and the other black. -The 
shapes were as odd as the rest. Prom honest shoes 
close fitting to the foot, they suddenly aban- 
doned their natural intention, and lengthened 
out into peaks fashioned like a ship's prow 
ocrea rostrata, specially forbidden to the clergy ; 
then they grew into the likeness of a scorpion's 
tail, pigacia ; then a courtier in Stephen's time, 
one Robert, stuffed his scorpiou's tail toes with 
hay, and hoisted them into the shape of a ram's 
horn, for which feat he earned the title of 
cornado ; and then came the preposterous peaks 
called crackowes or poulaines, by some termed 
devils' claws, which were fastened by chains to 
the wearer's knee. Even armed men wore these 
crackowes under the name of sollerets, and 
looped them up to their genouilleres or steel 
knee-caps, with links as big as a ship's cable. 
Henry the Sixth patronised half-boots laced at 
the sides, like our own ; also shoes and clogs, 
called galage, the parent both in name and form 
of our goloshes ; and then came the inevitable re- 
action against the devils' claws, and the toes 
widened out into broad purse-like forms, called 
ducks' bills, all purpled and slashed and furbe- 
lowed, till the foot was a monstrosity of another 
kind, and quite as ugly as the former. The 
enormous shoe roses of Elizabeth's time were 
the next article of foot fashion ; and then came 
cork soles, about the most sensible things we have 
met with yet. The shoe roses were sometimes 
very costly; three, four, and five pounds the 
pair being no uncommon price to pay ; while 
one gallant of the times paid thirty pounds for 
his, to the distraction and envy of all beholders. 
Eastern chopines, or high sandaled clogs, like 
what they use in the Turkish baths at this day, 
were for a time in vogue, but they never took 
the lower public ; and then burst out the full- 
blown finery of the Cavalier age, when the roses 
and laces and embroidery and fine leather made 
the purchase of a pair of boots a matter of 
anxious calculation, and a serious curtailment 
of the family beef and mutton. Tailordom was 
in the ascendant under the Charleses ; and no 
expense was held too great for a fit personal 
adornment ; so, when the young bloods spent a 
pretty little fortune on their feet, it is to be re- 
membered that they had sunk a larger one on 
every other part of their persons. We are all 
familiar with this Charles boot, with its wide 
soft top turned down to show the rich lace lining 
we all know the indescribable air of full dress and 
rioting swagger which it gives ; and, convenient 
or inconvenient, extravagant or no, assuredly it is 
the most beautiful form of masculine foot-cover- 
ing yet invented. Indeed, the whole dress of 
that period was the most picturesque we have 
ever had. It would scarcely do for our grave, 



[NoYmber 17. 1MO.J 127 

dusty, toilsome days, but it was wonderfully 
beautiful shoulder-knots, loose shirts, slashed 
sleeves, ribboned breeches, jaunty cloaks, fea- 
thered caps, rich rufl's and falling bands of 
daintiest lace, gauntlet gloves everything, in 
short, save the flowing periwig of dead men's 
hair, which yet harmonised so well with all the 
rest. From tbe turned-down boot of Cavalier 
and Puritan, we come to the stiff jack-boot of 
.lames the Second and the highwaymen; and 
then to the red heels of the dandies of Queen 
Anne's liking, when various Sir Plumes miuced by 
the side of our great-great-grandmothcrs at Ra- 
nelagh, the beautiful young women in hoops 
and patched, tottering gracefully on crimson heels 
set well under the foot, with bows and buckles 
worth a fortune on the instep. And then was 
invented the pump or flat shoe, with no heels at 
all, as we wear them now in-doors ; and then, 
in a little time longer, the buckle-makers set up 
a loud cry, and petitioned the Prince of Wales 
to insist on the British nation wearing buckles, 
for it was running wild into bad taste and 
sobriety, and they, the buckle-makers, were 
starving. And now, last of all, is our modern 
revival of high heels, not yet coloured red, and 
the fond ambition of our fashionable girls to 
appear in boots originally copied from the 
pattern of a railway navvy's, but baptised into 
refinement by the name of Balmorals. 

Hair and head-dresses come next; in fact, 
they ought to have come first, before boots and 
shoes and everything else, for they are the most 
wild and wonderful of all the wild and wonderful 
things man has from time to time fashioned for 
his disfigurement. The old painted Britons wore 
long hair falling to the shoulders in grand massy 
lengths, a trifle the worse for want of combs 
ana brushes; and the fashion continued, with 
one or two temporary shortenings, to the time 
of llcnry the Sixth, when it was cut close and 
round, like a charity-school boy's round a 
basin. Henry the Seventh brought back the 
older fashion. Henry the Eighth cut closer. 
The Cavaliers wore long love-locks, meandering 
over their shoulders as Tow as the elbow ; while 
the stricter Puritans preached against the mode, 
and some of them cropped themselves close as 
shorn sheep. But the nobler sort wore theirs 
long, straight, and parted down the middle, 
though they were held near to perdition by the 
saints for the same. Charles the Second pa- 
tronised periwigs, first brought into England in 
the time of Henry the Eighth, which monarch 
spent twenty shillings on a perwyke for Sexton, 
his fool ; and from Charles to the youthful days 
of our own papas, wigs of all shapes have had a 
long reign over the world of fashion, if not a 
handsome one. Marvellous were the various 
forms of these periwigs. Huge Cape-sheep tails 
tied with monstrous blue bows ; long flows of 
wool, pluffy and full, flapping down to the waist, 
like exaggerated spaniels' ears, tilings large 
enough for a camel's load, and bearing a bushel 
of powder; campaigns, bobs, pigtails, ba, 
toupees, like sugar-loaves, both male and IV 
the mule with u row of cannon curls at the nape of 

the neck, the female bordered to the apex of the 
pyramid with rolls like Brobdingnagian sausages : 
pigeons' wings, comets, and cauliflowers, royal 
birds, staircases, ladders, and brushes, wild boars' 
backs, temples, rhinoceroses, corded wolfs paws, 
Count Saxe's mode, the dragons, the rose, the 
crutch, the negligent, the chancellor, the cut 
bob, the long bob, and the Jansenist bob, the 
half natural, the chain buckle and the corded 
buckle, the drop wig, the snail's back, spinage 
seed, and artichoke, were a few of the names 
given to these creations of tow, powder, and 
nastiness. Dandies combed their perukes in 
the streets and public places, and to do so grace- 
fully and with the proper air was a matter of 
grave education. A wig-maker wrote over a 
picture of Absalom and David, which served as 
his sign, 

Absalom ! Absalom! 
Absalom my son ! 

If thou hadst worn a periwig, 
Thou hadst not been undone ! 

Louis the Fifteenth tied a bit of black ribbon 
loosely round his neck, and fastened it in a bow 
to his pigtail behind, then called it a solitaire, 
and not the least distinctive mark of the later 
French revolutionists was their manner of dress- 
ing the hair. Also, they adopted the hideous 
chimney-pot, which has survived better things. 
The head-coverings were as strange as the heads. 
In olden times the men wore hoods with long 
tails called liripipes, which they wound round 
their heads like a turban in many bands, or 
swathes ; then they wore caps with high feathers, 
and round felt hats like our wide-awakes, and 
close skull-caps surmounted with a heap of 
jagged and cut cointoise furbelows falling in a 
confused mass of intentional rags about the 
head and neck a fashion perpetuated in the 
Garter Knights' hoods, now slung over the 
shoulder ; and they wore peaked hats with fea- 
thers, and peaked hats without feathers, scarlet 
caps, and the close-fitting beretta, chimney-pots 
of taffetas and velvets, with a couple of feathers 
curled like the tail of the lyre bird of Paradise, 
and broad brims and funnels, and broad brims 
and peaked crowns, and jaunty looped brims 
with soft drooping feathers, as in the days of 
Charles the Second, and cocked-hats edged 
with feathers, and cocked-hats edged with, 
gold lace, and the original chimney-pots of the 
Revolution; and the hideous chimney-pots of 
1860, and the wide-awakes for artists, and pork- 
pies for flashy young men, and cricket-caps, and 
boating-caps, and a host of others : but always 
the head covering of respectability and state 
the high, ugly, cylindrical chimney-pot at seven- 
teen-and-sixpence, best quality. 

But the women outvied the men in the exag- 
geration of their head-gear. In early times, the 
times of knight and squire and historic fable, they 
plaited their hair into long pendent tails, which 
they then put up snugly into silken cases, not un- 
like our umbrella cases; a little later, in Chaucer's 
time, they wore cauls of golden network adorned 
with jewels, and every woman with any preten- 
sions to beauty had yellow hair, which she dyed 

128 [Xovomber 17, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

to the required shade when Nature had been 
perverse, and given them chesnut for gold, They 
oscillated between flowing curls, or smoother 
tresses hidden carefully away under golden cauls 
and hoods with long liripipes like monkeys' 
tails, until Elizabeth's time, when, with one ac- 
cord, they concealed their locks beneath nets 
and caps, save on their wedding-day, when the 
tresses flowed free and wide, unconfined by coif 
er caul. Elizabeth powdered her hair with gold- 
dust, and rolled it over cushions, and heaped up 
her head with jewels and finery, till she made 
herself what women call a fright; but Marie 
Stuart knew the alphabet of beauty too well 
for that, and fasiiioned one of the prettiest 
head-dresses ever worn. The ladies of James 
the First's time, wore curls in inverted pyramids, 
descending in huge waves of hairy increase down 
to the falling band or collar ; and the ladies of 
Charles the Second's time took a simpler turn 
and revelled in creve-cceurs, and favourites, love- 
locks, confidents, and ringlets, as we all know 
by heart and Sir Peter Lely. Some dressed 
their heads taure fashion : that is, bushed out at 
the brow, like a bull's head ; and some had wire 
frames over which they rolled their hair, till 
they made huge fat puddings at each side of the 
face, then they put high plaited lace turrets on 
their heads, towering in three stages ; and then 
came the monstrous ugliness of the eighteenth 
century. Stiff with pomatum and powder, 
strained and pinned and puffed out in all direc- 
tions, hung about with huge glass beads, and 
ropes and coils of golden cord, and piled up 
with ribbons and flowers and feathers, the women 
framed their heads into objects of utter ugliness, 
unlike anything in heaven or earth. A lady's 
head at that time took many hours to dress, and 
lasted from three to nine weeks unopened. It 
is scarcely necessary to say in what state it was 
usually found when that period of investigation 
arrived. All sorts of strange things were worn then 
as ornaments. A sow and litter of pigs in blown 
glass, a coach, a chair and chairmen, a waggon, 
two or three dishes of fruit nothing was too 
preposterous for a lady to wear lost behind the 
curls, and in among the powder and pomatum 
of her head ; while a huge hat, top-heavy with 
feathers and gauze, was stuck on all this ugli- 
ness the gauze lappets sometimes worked with 
the aces of spades, hearts, clubs, and diamonds, 
which then gave the name of " quadrille heads" 
to these conglomerations. The more fashion- 
able of both sexes used coloured hair powder ; 
and Charles James Fox went back to the time 
of the Picts and Danes when he flourished 
about town with his red-heeled shoes, chapeau 
bras, and blue hair powder. 

Many have been the head-dresses used for 
covering these wonderful arrangements of hair, 
some as wonderful as the hail-dressing itself. 
Square-cut hoods and diamond-shaped hoods, 
like the lozenge windows of a church, immense 
horns, with long hanging veils, now single, like 
a unicorn, now double and cow-like ; horse- 
shoes made of velvet and cloth of gold, ex- 
tinguishers, and turbans and hoods with liri- 

pipes trailing to the feet, and hoods with no 
liripipes at all, coifs sitting close to the face, 
and small Marie Stuart hats, surely the pret- 
tiest things to be had, flat straw hats spreading 
wide, or tied under the chin a la Pamela and 
virtue generally, monstrous baskets and ca- 
leches to wear over the monstrous towers of 
powder and pomatum just spoken of, feathered 
hats and hats like smart chimney-pots, and coal- 
scuttles, and helmets, pokes, fan-shaped hats, 
rational and jaunty hats, as of late, and irra- 
tional bonnets, as of late, meaning no bonnets 
at all, with such a world of turbans, caps, and 
toques as would take a moderate-sized encyclo- 
paedia to describe. The horns were the most 
extraordinary of all this assemblage, and ex- 
cited, perhaps, the most wrath. A certain 
bishop encouraged the rabble to annoy every 
woman met in the streets wearing this obnoxious 
head-gear; and it was fine fun to the little 
vulgar boys of the period to follow the long- 
robed ladies, crying, " Hurte Belin," and " Be- 
ware of the ram !" with the prospect of a ten 
days' pardon into the bargain. Women were 
always fair game to the satirists and moralists 
of every age ; and among the very earliest re- 
cords are to be found fierce onslaughts against 
them, and graphic descriptions of what the 
devils did with them when they died, as a pu- 
nishment for their paint and finery. One lady 
took a little devil to church with her sitting on 
her train, his especial place ; because the long 
train was then a new fashion, and the clergy did 
not like it. 

Among the more curious arts of adornment 
was the custom of patches. Sun, m&on, and 
stars, and a coach and six horses, crosses, 
circles, and cabalistic signs, artistically com- 
posed, made a very pretty face picture ; patches 
on the one side signified Whig, on the other 
side, Tory ; and a stancli lady Tory made once a 
sad mistake when, in her hurry, she patched the 
Whig side of her face and went to a grand rout, 
seeming to all the world the supporter of her 
enemies. The fashion came in during the reign 
of the first Charles, and was finely satirised. So 
were the large ruffs, stiffened with that "devil's 
liquor starche," rendered more abominable still 
by beingcoloured blueoryellow. This fashion went 
out early after Mrs. Turner was hung at Tyburn 
for the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury ; she 
went to the gallows in a Jawn ruff dyed yellow. 
Having been the inventor of yellow starch, 
yellow starch did not survive her. Hoops out- 
lived the ridicule lavished upon them. Pyra- 
midal, bell-shaped, cylindrical, they neither les- 
sened nor collapsed, but held their own in all 
strut and state, even to the confusion of the 
well-disposed of our own times. But our ladies' 
hoops are mere toys compared to the enormous 
machines popular in the days of sacques, red 
heels, and mighty heads ; scarcely to be remem- 
bered as of the same race, pigmies in the laud 
of deceased giants. Nothing, indeed, is so out- 
rageous as it was. Our most extravagant court 
dresses are not equal to the rich bandekyns, the 
cointoise mantles twelve yards round, with 

Chtrlet Dlckenn.] 


[Xorn>br J7. 


sleeves trailing on the ground, the brocaded 
silks set full and heavy over the enormous 
hoops, the laces, and velvets, and slashes, and 
feathers of our forefathers and foremothers. We 
arc a nation of quakers compared to them, and 
the most fantastic thing we wear is moderate itself 
compared to the vagaries rejoiced in by them. 
tvr ;i few extravagances about us yet, a 
few wild beards, for instance, floating over the 
shoulders, and moustaches run up into a dagger's 
nuiiit, but the broad spade beard, and the two 
little tufts worn by Richard II., the horned 
moustaches and the vine-branch moustaches, the 
peaked beard, the mouse-eaten beard, the T 
beard, the stiletto, the swallow-tail, and the tile, 
were all more outrageous than the most out- 
rageous things we do in that way. But we go 
in a. circle too, only a circle ever widening. 
There were mannish" young ladies in Queen 
Elizabeth's time and Sir Roger de Coverley's 
" sir, or madam, as the case may be" in coat, 
waistcoat, hat, and rapier, and there are mannish 
young ladies now, in vests, shirts, jackets, and 
cropped hair; there were "petticoat breeches" 
in the reign of the second Charles, and our 
living youth disport themselves in pegtops; 
hoops once again encase " the fair," as it was 
the fashion to call them, and fashion still holds 
men to chimney-pots and swallow-tails. \\ r 
have more sense of toilette fitness than when 
the Duchess of Queensbcrry went to a Bath ball 
ii> an apron, originally a barme.-cloth, which Beau 
Nash took from her and flung indignantly behind 
the benches, but we still have our court costume 
when we look like people at a masquerade, and 
the Lord Chamberlain still writes unintelligible 
directions about plain linen and fringed. But 
patches have gone out, and a sow and her 
litter are no longer to be seen as ornaments 
in the hair; garters now are sober hidden 
supports, not bands of golden stuff jewelled ; 
and gloves are simple and delicate, not a mass 
of gold thread, seed pearls, and fine lace tons, as 
iu olden times. We still have stays ; still hold 
to small waists, impossible feet, and strangulated 
hands ; but on the whole we are very much 
wiser than our ancestors in the way of cos- 
tume, and much more rational and simple. 
Our men's dress is, perhaps, the ugliest thin: 
that was ever invented, but it. is convenient ; an 
our women's is, on the whole, the best, if uol 
the most picturesque, which the ages have turned 
out. They do not go about the streets in theii 
" night, rails " as they used ; they do not trai 
behind them heart-breaking trains of cloth o 
gold, velvet, and brocaded silk, as in the days o: 
bandekyns and farthingales ; they wear gowns 
i some shape in them, not sacques and trollop 
pees ; and sometimes cover their heads decently 
with hats and bonnets that will stay on. They weai 
their hair gracefully and naturally, and as a rul< 
they brush it at least once a day, and do not "kee] 
it" for nine weeks at a stretch ; they do not wear 
visage sleeves, and the men do not wear stag 
and peaked doublets as Raleigh did; and trunl 
hose stulYed with bran have gone out; an< 
Kcvenhullcr hats have gone out ; and pornande 

alls and clouded caues have gone out; and 
wathes for infants have gone out ; and Mac- 
eth is not played in a bag-wig, ruffles, and 
ourt suit ; and Hamlet has no diamond knee- 
uckles, Hotspur no Ramilies wig. We no 
onger exclaim with the poet who immortalised 
imself by the single line : 
Without black velvet breeches, what is man ? 

Venus has not a hoop and flowers, nor Apollo a 
>ink satin jacket and a powdered wig; the macca- 
onis have gone the way of all flesh ; pouterpigeons 
no longer walk about under the name of fashion- 
able women, with sugar-loaf bonnets and full 
luffonts ; the waist is pretty much where nature 
made it not over the hips nor under the arms ; 
and what ornamentation is used, is of a modest 
and comparatively simple character. Fashion 
ias done us a good turn at last, and common 
ense has taken hold of the tailor's shears, and 
clipped away bravely at the cloth. 


COACHMAN sits upon his chariot upon the 
)ox-seat of that vehicle expectant, cracking 
lis whip loudly. I hear him, far away in remote 
chamber of albcrgo, and descend in the light 
raiment this century has selected for its fes- 
ivity ; so, Avanti, through the night, coachman ! 
iiicouraging thy cattle with curious cries, and 
.triking fire from the flints below, making, 
;cutre a terre, for the musical temple conse- 
crated to Apollo, far-darting god ! 

And yet there is no such need for this furious 
cricking of steeds. There is yet breathing time, 
or all day long the little pink bills have been 
calling to me importunately from their dead 
walls and street corners that, the music " se in- 
comincera" will commence itself "a nove ore 
aomerid." This last word, long after I became 
iware that it stands for afternoon, associates, 
itself mysteriously with pomegranates, or some 
fruit of such succulent flavour, which most suit- 
able hour commends itself especially, as involv- 
ing no flying from the untasted banquet, no 
cruel dereliction of the choice fruits of the des- 
sert, no indecent crowding of courses. And yet, 
with a quaint oddity of contradiction, in a sober 
quakerly manufacturing Rhenish town, I have 
come forth on the steps of the theatre, after hear- 
ing a good substantial opera full of musical fat and 
lean, through and through, just as the town-hall 
clock was striking nine ! At that hour we are 
hurrying to wait on Apollo, far-darting god. 

Down through a vile miscellany of back alleys 
black-dark, lampless and tortuous Seven Dials 
seventeen times over in helpless repetition 
pilot coachman takes his boat, heaving and 
plunging through the trough of that paved sea. 
londer at last, where are the string of light- 
houses or lamps, waits the port ; and here, just 
at our carriage windows, looms out great white- 
cloaked Carmelite on horseback fierce patrol 
savagely stopping further progress with flashing 
sabre, and perhaps a few oaths. Reciprocal 
oaths, too, from coachman, making his steeds 
plunge amain ; but it results, as it must inevit- 

130 [November 17, 18BO.] 


[Conducted by 

ably result, in ignominious back turning. Ship 
must go about ; and by precious dispensation of 
metropolitan police, economical alike of time 
and distance, must plunge again into seven 
times Seven Dials, thread many more alleys, 
making for a line of approach directly op- 
posite. From the cabin steerage, or inside, 
I protest loudly against this outrageous vio- 
lation of the common carriage route regula- 
tions and canons as to the direction of 
horses' heads ; against the monstrous axiom 
that we who come from the east, and approach 
lawfully by the eastern streets, must be dragged 
violently from our course, and sent beating up a 
dark ocean of streets, to get round and make 
the more western approaches. Apollo, far- 
darting god, keeps his halls cheerfully alight 
and blazing with a bright effulgence. Peep 
round the corner, and you will catch a glimpse 
of dull sad-looking Tiber, rolling by with a 
steady look, inviting sullenly to suicide. Flavus 
Tiber rolls under the very stage; the great 
Bastion of the Angel rises like a mountain just 
over the way ; and the shivering stone sentries 
of the bridge are, as usual, out on their cheer- 
less duty. I have a certain compassion for 
those ill-used calcareous privates, who have a 
sad time of it, and suffer under an unjust dis- 
pensation compared with their brethren, who 
reside under shelter ; and I miss the delicious 
theatrical organisation with which our Trench 
neighbours so effectually encumber the entrance 
to their theatres ; that running the gauntlet of 
some half a dozen successive " administrations" 
of sallow gentlemen, who sit four together be- 
hind bars, and play at cards with you. We have 
none of this pleasant entanglement. Little red- 
limbed sentry of the Fortieth directs us into 
this we may call it so, for want of a better 
name this locksmith's shop, where it seems to 
me I can find a key of any size or dimension. 
The power of the keys is, indeed, here developed 
to an extraordinary degree, hanging in mon- 
strous bunches, like wall fruit on a well-laden 
tree, and with two gardeners-in-chief, in black 
silk caps, such as old gentlemen are partial to, 
sitting among the keys and plucking the pro- 
duce. That mysterious nightcap economy, sug- 
gesting general epidemic and chronic prevalence 
of cold in the head, will develop itself later. 
That metal fruit handed to you will be " Open, 
sesame !" to a little cabinet or box, to be yours 
to have and to hold for the night, with all the 
rights and profits thereunto appertaining. 

Now, are fluttering up the marble staircase 
the cloaked and hooded figures, the scarlet 
gipsies, and floating, rustling gossamer miscel- 
lany which flood such temples. High this spa- 
cious hall, marble-paved and arched, where is 
store of ices and general refreshment, where 
protecting garments suffer impoundment, and 
where wandering men collect, and the lost sheep 
is sure to be found : here I see magniloquent 
inscription in golden letters, barbarously grand 
and self-glorifying. It is in the great Roman 
character reserved for such boastings, and I 
almost expect to read that some conqueror 

redux come home again, that is and hos- 
tibus debellatis the foeman being utterly and 
disgracefully worsted erected this temple 
hanc sedem to Juno Victrix. Instead, I read 
a haughty reminder to all such lieges as come 
that way (having duly discharged the tariff at 
the door), that Dux Torlonia, Duke of Brac- 

ciano and other localities, Marchio de (say 

of the Pontine Marshes), built this temple, and 
restored the same restituit. We must be thank- 
ful, and appreciate the favour. We shall be 
reminded presently of other obligations owing 
to this nobleman. 

More golden inscriptions. This gallery to 
the right is labelled magnificently ORDINE DE' 
NOBILI the Noblemen's Tier ! There is here 
something touching on the rigid Indian supre- 
macy of caste : distinction which fear has borne, 
and will bear fruit, in many a nobleman's tear. 
A remark not more melancholy in its prophetic 
character than in its feeble humour. Poor com- 
moners and ordinary gentry must take the stair, 
and ascend a flight or so higher ; and a familiar 
in a black silk nightcap being summoned, flings 
wide the narrow cell numbered "undeci." We 
draw chairs to the front, and look round on 
Apollo's theatre. 

Much like Old Drury in size and general 
bearings, but painted in a dull, a sad-coloured 
stone, which gives it a cheerless and almost 
penitential character. There is no blaze of 
gilding, no delicate bride-cake confectionery of 
white and gold, as in the famous London taber- 
nacle, which rises where the fruits and flowers 
are sold no rich warmth of crimson and gold, 
such as glows upon the walls of the Parisian 
house with almost a dining-room comfort it is 
in darkness almost Cimmerian, and a single 
chandelier in the clouds pours down a feeble 
and insufficient radiance. With the absence of 
all those cheerful adjuncts of warmth, colour, 
gold, light, and decoration, an insupportable 
melancholy creeps over the well-ordered mind, 
which is thus brought to a suitable tone for 
solemn and penitential exercises. By judicious 
alteration, and a tap of the decorator's wand, it 
might burst into a splendid theatre. 

Then might it serve for a yet more glorious 
apotheosis of the Banker-Duke. We have already 
passed humbly beneath his arch triumphal, where 
is the glorifying inscription to the chief whose 
conquests are by moneys. This is my opera, it 
proclaims, my pit, my boxes, my stage. Plebs 
Populusque Romanus, come and be recreated; 
but at the same time be thankful, know to whom 
you owe these delights ! And lest should you 
forget, in transitu between the arch triumphal 
and boxes, cast your eyes an instant upon your 
neighbour's light cane-chair; so shall you be 
kept in a state of suitable recollection. And, 
indeed, as I look round on our little cabin furni- 
ture, I do find that we are supplied with eight 
such seats, each garnished conspicuously with a 
ducal coronet, and a flowing round text T. The 
same letter, with the same head ornament, is 
artfully worked at corners of arches and such 
suitable places. The very air is charged with 



[Jtowmbw 17, 1880.] 131 

the Ducal Banker. The great man lets his edifice 
out to (lit: municipality at so many thousand 
scudi a year, but watches their doings jealously, 
as, indeed, is only fitting with all municipality 
doings. Let us look out an instant over the 
edge of our box, upwards, at the high art, pro- 
jected on the plafond or ceiling, the theatrical 
virgins, and general symbolical company who 
usually reside in such regions; that is a pure 
municipality conception corporate high art. For 
one night tne corporate eye had been grievously 
wounded, by what seems to be the inharmonious 
groupings of the existing plafond, and the city 
Ruskin, with his painters and artificers, is sent 
in promptly to produce something more con- 
sonant to the true canons of taste, and less 
offending to corporate art canons. The sym- 
bolical virgins are the result. With this result 
also : the Ducal Banker, indignant at this out- 
rage on his property, protests against the high 
art ceiling and tne symWical virgins, and iumn - 
diately brings an action in the superior court.'. 
against the municipality. With what issue I 
cannot now recollect. 

Looking over the edge of our penitential cell, 
we may ralce, with powerful double leus revolver, 
that long curve below, consecrated as the noble- 
man's tier, and may bring within easy range the 
persons of quality there reposing gracefully. I 
recognise their familiar faces : my noble Roman 
of the sallow cheeks, now finished with his daily 
driving, and the pale noble lady, who has come 
for a short distraction from her great gloomy 
chambers. It is, after all, no more than the 
closing or finishing round in that fashionable 
mill in which she takes her penal servitude ; and 
having already hearkened to this brassy tempest 
of the Maestro Verdi, some eighteen or twenty 
times, the edge of novelty may be taken to 
have worn oft. Still she is there, asserting 
her place, in half-shadow, in the hemicycle of 
the immortals. It is a curious thing this strict 
flocking together of noble birds of a feather. 
And by that token I see from this aerie some 
whose feathers, it is whispered, have been ruffled, 
ever so little not worth mentioning, perhaps, 
and scarcely perceptible, except to a nicely moral 
eye. It is for all the world an animated bit of 
heraldry, a living edition of Sir Bernard's Peer- 
age, stretched out violently into a semicircular 
scroll. A current of blue blood courses round 
that august channel. True, there are a few un- 
titled outsiders, who, by patient waiting and 
setting of names down for years, as it might be, 
at an almost impregnable club, have slipped in; 
but this is only a case of rare exception. 

For whom is that sort of royal stage-box to 
the left kept ? ]'. r K i n u' T orlonia, ducal banker, 
lord of the building; and it runs out behind, 
. as other roval boxes do, into great saloons and 
reception-chambers. The humbler royal box, 
directly vis-a-vis, accommodates the magnificos 
of the municipality: a deputation from, which 
body attends, and is obliged to attend, every 
night of performance. The Ducal Banker as 
i>een mentioned leases his building to the 
municipality, and this body holds it in trust for 

the citizens. It is, as it were, the people's 
theatre, and the deputation enthroned in splen- 
dour represent the people. As a little bit of 
fancy speculation I conjure up the images of 
Alderman Sir R. Garden, with Mr. Alder- 
man Moon, together with a third brother of 
civic obesity and unmusical tastes, being re- 
quired, under compulsion, to come down and 
occupy a municipal box at the Royal Italian 
Opera, Covent Garden. I strain the imagination 
still further, and feebly strive to entertain the 
amusing conceit of a London City corporation 
indulging in such a piece of liberality as rent- 
ing a theatre for its citizens; but here that 
useful faculty recoils from such absurdly hostile 
contradictions. These Roman officials are su- 
preme and autocratic. The singer carries away 
iiis hearers in a torrent of bravos and frantic ap- 
plause, but there shall be no encore unsanc- 
tioned by authority ; and orchestra chief durst 
not move his baton, for repetition of the sym- 
phony, without nod of approval from a municipal 
head. Sometimes there is unseemly collision 
between these authorities and that vox populi, 
which they decline to recognise as the higher 
and more divine voice, supposed to be synony- 
mous. Municipality, true to municipal tradition, 
is pig-headed and stubborn, the people shrill and 
effervescent, and the dispute is usually happily 
terminated by an unfair appeal to cocked-hatdom 
and chinking spurs and sabres. Strange to say, 
these civic functionaries seem to-night to be 
young and dandified, ply their glasses indus- 
triously, and look as unlike common councilmen 
as can well be imagined. 

But there are other gentlemen clothed with 
other mysterious powers and clothed, too, in 
elegant evening dress whom enthusiasm for 
music, and the attraction of II Maestro Verdi's 
music, have drawn from their retirement. These 
fanaticos sit by preference in one special box on 
the pit tier, exactly in the centre of the house, 
and fronting the stage. There we may look for 
them, and there we may be sure to find them, 
one busy with his glass, the other with his book, 
from which he scarcely ever lifts his eyes. The 
fanaticos are policemen from Signor Matteucci's 
office, and really seem to enjoy their night in a 
gentlemanly unofficial fashion, unburdened by 
the awkward sense of duty. But would you 
know why Policeman X is so deeply interested 
in his book of the words, following every sen- 
tence with his eyes glued to the page ? I will 
give it to you in one, in two, in forty, in a hun- 
dred, as lively Madame de Se'vigue' puts it. 
You will not come within a parasang of it. 
Policeman X he holds his book in kid gloves, 
and I will swear has varnished boots is the 
singers' policeman. He looks after them warily, 
for there have been instances on record of poii- 
t iral singers. It has happened before now, that 
incvndiary words, of ambiguous application, 
carefully expunged by censors, have oeen re- 
stored Dy enthusiastic singers, and have, as a 
natural consequence, been rapturously caught 
up by audience, and turned into peg for hanging 
"a demonstration" on. Nay, there are little 

132 [November 17, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

words in particular songs, otherwise harm- 
less, which perverse hearers will twist into far- 
fetched allusions ; and as the singer approaches 
such pitfals, X becomes attentive, and watches 
him warily. This inflammability in the au- 
dience, it will be seen, has to be carefully 
watched, and the awkwardness of the thing lies 
in this : that most operas deal ing in impassioned 
subjects with liberty, and love, and the op- 
pressed virtues generally makes the perform- 
ance, as it were, take place on barrels of deto- 
nating powder. Thus, at various times, not 
being as yet in these secrets, I am mystified by 
an unusual burst of delight at what appears to 
be a feeble and undeserving passage ; and, on 
turning to the words, I find a sentiment that can 
be wrested, only by pure dislocation, into any 
application to present affairs. Robust revolu- 
tionary tenors, drawing their shining blades, 
and pointing them to the clouds contempora- 
neously with an encouraging musical shout, 
strained at C in alt, and shrieking " La Liberta !" 
would not by any means be tolerated. For 
growling basso democrats with grievances, there 
is a grudging allowance ; but they are usually 
ill-conditioned fellows, who excite no sympathy. 
Their zeal in the cause is not wholly pure, 
there being usually present a foreign leaven of 
disappointed aifection and preferred rival ; so 
the bad end that waits for him at the end of the 
piece rather strengthens constituted authority, 
and brings a just odium on a cause which could 
avail itself of such degraded instruments. Even 
artists of sound constitutional principles, steady 
Tory sopranos, and Conservative tenors, are not 
exempted from this close supervision. Is it not 
difficult for an artist who has struggled through 
his famous air with an enthusiasm that rises 
every instant, who is encouraged by applauding 
spectators, and who is now coming round " the 
corner" for his last " rush" home, racing for 
life and death with drums, trumpets, fiddles, 
horns, llutes, sacbuts, psalteries, and all kinds 
of music I say, is it not hard for him to 
avoid slipping out the old tabooed word ? As 
sure as ever he does so, Policeman X has him, 
and next day Conservative tenor is fined fifteen 
scudi. It might have blown over safely, might 
have passed unobserved, the obnoxious syllable, 
but still there was the risk. 

In the year of grace eighteen hundred and 
forty-eight, when kings were throwing their 
crowns into cupboards and dust-heaps, and 
packing their portmanteaus, and when Pope 
Pius was gratifying his children with a toy 
called a Constitution, this opera-house, in which 
I now sit, witnessed the strangest, wildest, 
and, I may say, maddest scene thai, ever theatre 
witnessed. 1 am told how when Signer Verdi's 
Eruani was presented to a boiling seeth- 
ing tumultuous house, and Coletti, superb 
barytone (who will play this very night), disco- 
vering the conspiracy in the church, flung back 
his cloak, and revealed himself to the conspira- 
tors in the famous song, Sono Carlo Hague, 
there arose such a storm of frantic enthusiasm 
and jubilant violence as could only be lulled by 

the superb barytone's adapting the words " Sono 
Pio" to the situation. Which was done at once 
with triumphant success, though they suit that 
particular passage of music but ill, and are a 
little incongruous with the situation. Another 
night, on receipt of some specially joyful 
news, ladies in the noblemen's tier were made 
to stand up as so many human caryatides, 
and join their handkerchiefs like garlands, 
and speedily a snow-white drapery ran all 
round the house. There was no end to these 
exuberant freaks. At times, the Bed of Flowers 
I like this French name better than our blunt 
English "pit" would invade the stage en 
masse, take possession of it for the evening, 
and sing a sort of Liberty Opera of their own. 

Orchestra sprinkled thickly with green-shaded 
lamps is filling in quickly ; and here I am 
brought back to that mysterious dispensation 
noted before, namely, the investiture of every 
orchestral element in a black silk nightcap 
violins, ear-piercing flute (its own aural organs- 
are, however, effectually protected), trumpets, 
fagotti (bassoon in the vernacular), trombone, 
even kettle-drums, though I do own to a faint lin- 
gering expectation that there would have been an- 
exception in favour of the kettle-drums. I had 
no just ground for this supposition, but coufess- 
I did expect it. It was all one. Every head, 
whether it nodded responsive to the jerked 
harmonies of the bow and string, or distended 
with the exertion of filling the wind instrument, 
was conspicuous by this unique silken cap. la 
its universality it was astonishing. Positively 
not a single shiny tonsure reflected back the 
light. It would almost seem to have been 
de rigueur an article of professional costume. 

Flower-garden is filling in ; though here and 
there are patches very like (according to the 
apt similitude of a lady near me) to gaps where 
stray teeth have been knocked out, It is the old 
street miscellany, the loungers of the Pincio 
and shop-steps, who have flung away their 
cigars and strayed in here. They pay thirty 
baiocchi say fifteen pence for a comfortable 
numbered stall. You can get an excellent box 
with eight seats (coronet included) for the 
modest sum of say twelve and sixpence : about 
the same charge for each person as in the pit. 

Now'has the municipality deputation just en- 
tered and given the signal from its box, and with 
that low roll of the drums with which Maestro 
Verdi loves to hint at and shadow out his 
coming mysteries, has the overture to Simon 
Boccanera set in. (By the way, see that lady who 
has just come in note a significant fact : it is 
Madame de Grammont, imperial ambassadress, 
and she has the best box in the house after the 
ducal banker's.) Rolls out, too, Verdi's whisper- 
ing crescendo, mounting into bustle and gallop, 
with final crisis in brazen burst. Then floats 
up the curtain, and business commences. As 
of course, the piece resolves itself into a doge 
story, and also as of course every one wears 
the low velvet Andrew Doria cap, with velvet 
suits, and tramps it about in a correct doge 
manner. The run upon these doge stories is 

Charle* Dlckeni.] 


rXoverabcr 17. *>.] 133 

prodigious, Verdi himself being crazy on the 
subject and doge-cracked. 

1 try to follow the mysterious intricacies of 
that first act, having only these facts to go on 
as a basis. How am I to interpret a devout 
lomen in velvet, who kneels to the foot- 
lights and prays, while the sweet voices of 
virgins from the church dovetail ingeniously 
with his rougher organ, while a fierce-bearded 
gentleman, also in velvet, speaks with him 
in angry expostulatory manner? the whole 
business of that first part resulting in noisy 
procession and ringing of bells, and general pro- 
clamation, out of which I dimly catch a hint 
that the devout gentleman has been made a 
doge. There are reasonable grounds, also, for 
supposing that the devout gentleman is Simon 
the Buccaneer, though he looks too good and 
respectable for such a calling. 

A word, too, "in favior" of the daughter, 
suppressed during the first act, who struggled 
so miraculously against the infirmities ot age 
and exhausted energies of sex. It moved both 
wonder and pity, that exhibition. Not one of 
those cruelly painful acrobatic feats which the 
Maestro Verdi forces his disciples to attempt, 
not a single rasping fence of that terrible coun- 
try, did this spirited sexagenarian flinch from : 
the Boccherini, I think she was called. Audi- 
ence looked on moodily, and with a certain 
tolerance, with not so much as the faintest 
ghost of approval. Rumour says that the Boc- 
cherini is forced upon them. 

It is about as good as a Palais Royal farce, to 
see the raptures of the youthful tenor for this 
aged charmer, with his agonies of despair when 
the old doge, like these true operatic cur- 
mudgeons, who are all of a piece, steps in and 
forbids the banns. Needless to say, that, 
according to precedent, the old doge is done 
away with, and comes to a violent end at 
tlir hands of the conspirators. Weak but 
well-meaning dotard, he dies by poison. His 
agonies are frightful; and, curious to say, 
as the well-beloved daughter and discarded 
lover group themselves about " the dying man," 
and his increasing pains grow, and are out too 
vividly depicted on his countenance, inferior 
voices, typical of stomachic suffering, seem to 
proceed also from the bassoons and bass instru- 
ments. Whether this was intentional on the 
part of the gran maestro, I cannot take on me 
to say ; but as the voices worked up and 
strained into an impassioned trio of sorrow, so 
worked up the spasms and struggles in the 
bassoon interior, reaching at last to such comic 
effect, that bursts of profane and irrepressible 
laughter issue from one special cell, where were 
some lively Inglcsi. 

But to magnificent Coletti, dramatic artist 
unrivalled, save by his brother Roucoui, all 
homage ! Perhaps a little decadent, and that 
full roll of voice worn away. I see him a few 
nights later in that other doge piece, The Fos- 
cari, and am " ravished" with his feeling, and 
pathos, and overwhelming power. In this same 
piece lie won his golden spurs, many years back 

now, on English boards. Now the autumn, and 
perhaps an early winter is drawing on. It is 
time to look into the garner and see what is 
stored up. His are full to overflowing ; he can 
sit him down cheerfully and say " Vixi ! Can- 
tavi!" By degrees he has slipped out of the 
course has fallen away from the hum and 
fluster of great cities and Babylonian theatres. 
Here in some one of the Roman towns was ne 
born ; and hither he has returned in his prime, 
to fall gracefully into the sere and yellow leaf. 
It is hard, though, to sacrifice the encouraging 
roar of many voices bursting from the parterre, 
and to some the footlights are more glorious 
than the broad sun at noon. After triumphs of 
his order, a fireside may be domestic, but hum- 
drum. So on this modest stage, among his 
own countrymen, he will stimulate himself with 
a modest dose of excitement, and glide down 
gently into incapability, without colo!, unfeeling 
voices shrieking it aloud to the four winds. He 
has a handsome estate just by, and shall per- 
haps be baron and seigneur in his old age. So, 
too, is it with ex-tenor Colliui, another Roman. 
There is something pleasant in this notion, that 
those hard-working songsters, who have de- 
lighted us for their life, suall at the end not be 
cast out, but subside into quietude and hus- 
bandry, and see a peaceful end to their days. 


IN Manhood, in the full accomplished glory 

And ecstasy of life, 
Memories of the golden Land of Morning 

Haunt us in peace and strife ; 

Vague visions of that fresh and hanpy season, 

The Paradise of youth, 
Where earth was one unfading summer landscape-, 

And love a blossomed truth. 

The pipe of birds, awaking to the sunrise, 

Cool shadows on the lawn, 
The solemn mountains fired with eastern splendour, 

The pastoral calm of dawn ; 

The shining quiet of the Sabbath noontide, 

The musical, fleet brocks, 
The evening rest and ever welcome voices 

Of home-returning rooks ; 

The windy hands, that tapped the frosted casements 
Through the December nights ; 

Earth ringed with darkness and, above, outshining 
The still, celestial lights ; 

Remembered echoes of heart-treasured voices, 

The blessing and the prayer, 
Gentle good-nights and tender parting kisses, 

And slumbers calm and rare ; 

Return to us, with one dear recollection, 

Of a sweet mother's face, 
Bright with angelic blessedness and quiet, 

And fair domestic grace ; 

Rise and return from the burial chambers 

Of the mysterious brain, 
Till the over-burdened heart and pining spirit 

Are faint with sense of pain. 

334 [November 17, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

Whence do you come, you unrequited Longings, 
From what remote grey shore, 

You, whose uplifted and remembered faces 
Look backward evermore ? 

You who, from the unperceived horizon 

For ever round us cast, 
Summon to shadowy and brief existence 

The phantoms of the past. 

In sunny fields or cloud- enveloped cities, 

Under the midnight skies ; 
Alone, or, with the crowded world communing, 

You look into my eyes. 

Your gentle voices, tender with emotion, 

Rich with divine delight, 
Fall round me till I breathe and walk entranced, 

A spirit world of light. 

Turn from the past, you unrequited Longings, 
Turn from that barren shore ; 

There are the graves of our departed kindred, 
But they are there no more. 

Lift up your faces to the shining Future, 

Unto the better place, 
There shall we meet you in celestial beauty, 

Before the Father's face. 


OK a bright sunny day, with a brilliant at- 
mosphere, we were admiring, in September of 
the present year, the magnificent prospect from 
the top of the Kremlin : a view hardly to be 
equalled. After attempting to count the three 
hundred and sixty-five churches which are said 
to exist in Moscow, and after scanning the 
spots pointed out where the great fire of 1813 
began and ended, and where the first Napo- 
leon watched the ruin 'of his plans, our eyes 
rested on a vast building in one of the more open 
spaces outside the walls of the fortress. We 
learned it was the Foundling Hospital, and, 
having a weakness for babies of all nations, 
we determined upon making that one of our 
objects. The following morning at an early 
hour was appointed for our visit, and, punctual 
to the time, we were introduced to the decorated 
and accomplished director, who courteously con- 
ducted us over the immense building, and gave 
us every information we could desire. 

The hospital is of vast extent, four stories 
in height, each floor very lofty, forming a 
large square, surrounding an inner court, which 
is laid out as a garden, and is nearly as large as 
Hanover-square, London. Projecting from one 
side, the building is still further extended to a 
wing in the shape of the letter L, and in the 
space in front there is again a garden of con- 
siderable size, laid out in broad walks with 
flower-beds. The basement floor of this exten- 
sive pile is occupied chiefly with the offices, 
with ranges of cellars for wood, and stores of 
various descriptions. 

As we approached the principal entrance 
through the outer gardens, we saw from fifteen 
to twenty children, varying from two or three 
to eight or ten years of age, very neatly and 
comfortably clad, playing and walking about 
in groups, with young good-natured-looking 

women attending upon them, all well fed and 
happy. These young nurses were all dressed in 
uniform costumes, and so were the children ; the 
boys in long grey great-coats and grey cloth caps, 
with little boots drawn over their trousers ; the 
girls with grey-hooded cloaks and large white 
bonnets of cotton. 

"We were then informed that this great esta- 
blishment consisted of two divisions ; one of 
which was limited to the orphan and mute 
friendless children of nobles, who were brought 
there at any age when their destitution was 
recognised, maintained, and educated, at the 
expense of the state, and fitted out in the world 
when of the proper age. The children we saw 
in this garden were a few of these nobles. 

"We ascended a flight of broad iron steps, and 
were conducted to the range of rooms where the 
accounts and general management of the hos- 
pital are carried on. Desks covered with large 
folios, shelves lined with the same, all numbered 
according to the year ; busy clerks and mes- 
sengers, and all the arrangements of an exten- 
sive department. 

We shall return to these rooms, to enter into 
the details of the plans. We were first taken 
to the show places : the chapel, highly gilded 
and ornamented, with the pictures on the walls 
and on the sides and over the altar, according 
to the usual mode of the Russo-Greek Church, 
which admits of no images, although there is 
quite as much of kissing and bowing as ever is 
seen in the Roman Catholic churches. Long 
galleries and ranges of rooms, with pictures of 
the imperial family, and of great benefactors or 
directors of the hospital, with glass-cases con- 
taining various objects of antiquity or of art, 
presented from time to time to the establish- 

We then arrived at the wards. They are all 
so much alike, that in describing one we describe 
the whole, as they only vary in size when sepa- 
rated for special objects. On entering, we were 
at once astonished at the wonderful symmetry 
of the whole. Down a long and yet wide apart- 
ment were ranged beds on each side, standing 
out into the room ; between each bed, close to- 
gether, were two cots side by side, at the foot 
of each bed was a wooden seat, which also was 
a closet the seat lifting up to give access to 
the clothes deposited below. At the head of 
each bed on each side, was a smaller seat, be- 
tween the bed and the adjoining baby's cot. 
At the head of each bed was a large broad card, 
or rather wooden placard, with a number on it, 
and some few words in white chalk. The cots 
had all hoods, were made of wood, and a 
small eider-down full-bellied quilt covered each 
little inmate. At the foot and in front of each 
bed as our visit was expected, and we were 
accompanied by the director and two or three 
of the staff there stood two women, all drawn 
up, erect and still, like a line of soldiers, in 
number about sixty of a side, or a hundred and 
twenty in the whole ward. Their appearance 
was made more military by their being all dressed 
exactly alike one regular uniform. These were 

Chr!ei Diektni.] 


pCornbr 17, 19CO.] 133 

the corps of WIT-NUHSES. Each had a sort of 
shako, a round coronet or turban of red cloth 
over pasteboard, high in front, and sloping to 
the back of the heaa. In an open closet at the 
side of the door were their state shakos, for 
feast days, of the same colour, but with a band 
of cold lace round the edge. The rest of the 
uniform consisted of a red body and petticoat, 
with a white front over the bosom, white long 
sleeves, and a white apron. They all wore white 
stockings, with grey cloth slippers without heels. 

There were twelve hmdreaof these wet-nurses 
in the hospital at that time, and twelve hundred 
babies : all of the latter under two months old, 
except a very few. 

In the services of the Russian Church, a 
peculiarity which strikes a stranger is the 
mode of bowing during the ceremonies. Dur- 
ing the chanting, which is very beautiful and 
unaccompanied, the congregation keep per- 
petually bowing: not all at the same time, 
but just as it appears to suit the fancy of 
individuals ; they do not bow the head, nor 
the shoulders, but the whole body at an angle 
from the legs ; some bow more, and some less, 
but generally the bow is a very low one, and 
the bower springs back again to a more than 
usually upright posture. The more devout 
and this is especially the case with the old 
beggar women prostrate themselves and kneel 
down and touch the floor with their fore- 
heads, and they will repeat this several times 
in a few minutes. In the streets, wherever there 
is a lamp in front of a sacred picture and these 
are perpetually met with in the streets in all 
Russian towns people are seen as they pass, to 
take their hats off, stop, strike the breast, each 
shoulder, and the forehead, and make this same 
peculiar bow even at a considerable distance 
from the object of devotion, perhaps at the op- 
posite side of a wide street. This same peculiar 
bow is the bow which the lower orders also 
make when they wish to show a mark of re- 
spect to their superiors or benefactors. As we 
passed down the long file of the wet-nurses, 
each of them in turn, like an intermitting platoon 
liring, made this bow, rising up again from it at 
once to an erect and military bearing. 

At each end of the long ward was a washing 
apparatus for the babies four copper baths, half 
a foot deep, smoothly rounded at bottom, set 
in a fixed stand, and supplied with warm or cold 
water from a brass pipe in the centre. In front 
of these, were four tables for dressing the babies. 
Instead of the nurse sitting down as in England, 
and dressing or washing the baby OH her lap, in 
Russia, and in Germany also, the 'baby is dressed 
oil a table, the nurse standing. The military pre- 
cision with which it is all done here, is very im- 
->ive. There are to each ward on the ave- 
, eight or nine nurse attendants, with a head 
one, who is a ladv in appearance and manner, 
and dressed in plain black silk, and who only 
NMOtfteadfl the rest. The rest are young, 
active, well taught and well trained women or 
girls, dres>r.i uniformly, who do all the real 
work, and attend to the babies, in all that 

the wet-nurses do not perform. With her bath 
ready filled with water at the proper tem- 
perature, one waits with her arms bare, a 
wet-nurse from a long file of them walks up 
with her ticket in her hand taken from the head 
of the bed, and, in her turn, hands her baby 
to one of these nurses by whom the baby is 
quickly undressed on one of the tables and 
handed to the nurse already at the bath. The 
baby is then rapidly but gently and carefully 
washed, and at once handea to a third nurse at 
another of the tables which is covered with an 
oil-silk large flat pillow, and there the baby is 
rapidly dried with a warm soft towel. It is then 
handed to the fourth table, and there another 
nurse as quickly dresses it, rolling it up iu 
the absurd and objectionable swaddling-clothes 
which are in use all over the Continent. This 
division of labour makes the whole process a very 
complete and very rapid one, only occupying 
a few minutes, and the baby is then handea 
to the wet-nurse and taken back to its cot. 
Some of the babies brought to the institution 
are very prematurely born, poor feeble little 
animals, scarcely alive, and not able to maintain 
their own warmth, even with all the adjuncts of 
eider-down pillows and coverlids. For these, 
there are special cots made of copper, with a 
double wall, between which circulates a perpe- 
tual supply of hot water, so that the proper 
degree of warmth is constantly surrounding the 
feeble infant. We saw some dozen of these 
very premature infants, looking most deplorable 
objects, with weazen monkey faces, enveloped in 
hoods of wadding. At another part of the same 
ward we were shown several which were now 
strong and healthy, and had gradually been in- 
ured to less delicate treatment. 

After visiting the main large wards, all of the 
same character, and all scrupulously clean, well 
ventilated, well warmed, and with painted 
boarded floors, which are easily washed and 
swept, we came to the smaller wards for excep- 
tional cases. One was for deformities, natural 
defects many irremediable and sooner or later 
to be fatal others to be relieved or removed, 
at a later age, by operations others which, 
without compromising life, would remain as per- 
manent blemishes and disfigurements. Of course 
there must be a proportion of such unfortunates 
in so large a number of infants ; but there was 
nothing better nor worse in the plans pursued 
for their treatment, than in other hospitals. 
One of these wards was solely for skin com- 
plaints : not the slight and quite innocent 
eruptions which are common to young infants, 
but those of a more permanent and mischievous 
character, requiring careful medical treatment. 
In Russia, among the lower classes, there are 
two skin diseases : one, the consequence of vice ; 
the other, the consequence of oirt, and of a 
highly contagious nature. Though Scotland has 
been taunted with the prevalence of this com- 
plaint, as a nearly national characteristic. Russia 
far more deserves the stigma, and it is dreadfully 
abundant among the children admitted into this 
institution. Fortunately it is curable, when the 

1 36 [November 1", 1S30.] 


[Conducted by 

appropriate treatment is effectually carried out, 
and here it is most thoroughly and completely 
managed. As soon as the complaint is detected, 
the infant is removed to the ward set apart for 
these cases. It is bathed in a medicated bath 
every day, and well rubbed over with a peculiar 
ointment. Then soft linen rollers are neatly 
passed round every limb and round the whole 
body, and a woollen loose robe over it all ; and 
by renewing the immersion daily, and applying 
it skilfully and thoroughly, in a very short time 
the baby is well enough to be replaced in the or- 
dinary ward. 

There are other wards for different illnesses, 
but the only one deserving particular notice is the 
ward for ophthalmia : a not uncommon malady 
among new-born children. Out of the twelve 
hundred infants in the house, there were rather 
more than sixty with ophthalmia in various 
stages. This ward is kept shaded with dark 
green blinds, and is especially guarded from 
currents of cold air. In advanced cases of 
ophthalmia, there is a great swelling in the eye- 
lids, and a quantity of yellow matter collects be- 
hind them, pressing upon the inflamed eyes and 
aggravating all the symptoms. The complaint 
is, generally, easily cured, when care is taken 
that the eyes are constantly and properly 
washed, and mild lotions properly applied. 
But ordinary nurses in England rarely attend 
to this effectually they either are ignorant and 
cannot ; or are idle or prejudiced, and will not ; 
or are timid and tender-hearted, and dare not. 
They do not open the eyes and let out the con- 
fined matter, because they do not like to make 
the child cry and if told to apply a lotion, they 
satisfy their consciences by applying it outside. 
We witnessed the process practised at this hos- 
pital, and it was excellently managed. At a table 
with a metal top. and with raised edges about two 
inches high all round, and with a small fountain 
of warm water in the centre conveyed in any 
direction as a douche by an india-rubber pipe, 
stood one of the young nurses, with a flat oiled- 
silk pillow on the table before her. She had an 
assistant at her elbow. A file of wet-nurses, each 
with her blind baby, stood in a line to her right.: 
each wet-nurse with a square piece of linen rag 
on the top of her head. They all came forward 
one by one the children being partly undressed 
and each in turn handed her child to the 
head nurse. She placed it on its back on the 
flat pillow, drew down the lower eyelid with her 
left hand while the assistant lifted up the upper 
eyelid, then with her right hand directed the 
douche of warm water thoroughly into the eye 
until every portion of the matter was washed 
away. She then took the piece of rag off the 
wet-nurse's head, wiped the eye carefully with 
it, applied a lotion within each eyelid as it was 
laid bare, and tossed the piece of rag into a 
heap ; thus, all fresh contagion was avoided, as 
each child had brought its own rag, and all the 
pieces were thoroughly washed and purified be- 
fore being used again. The child was then 
handed to its nurse and went off to its own cot. 
The whole process scarcely occupied a minute. 

In another department we witnessed the vac- 
cination. There were two resident surgeons en- 
gaged, and about sixty babies present : half 
the number to be vaccinated from the arms 
of the other half, then on the eighth day. 
There was the same regular order -each wet- 
nurse marching up in turn, holding her bed 
ticket with its number, and showing her baby's 
arm. On one arm, there were two vesicles, 
which were left undisturbed on the other arm 
six vesicles, which were used for vaccinating 
others, and for procuring supplies of lymph 
to be sent to a distance, between small flat 
squares of glass. On one side of the operator 
marched up the nurse with the baby from whose 
arm the lymph was to be taken, and on the other 
the nurse whose baby was to be vaccinated, 
and the surgeon very rapidly transmitted the 
vaccine virus from one arm to the other, tap- 
ping the vesicles with his lancet, and then pass- 
ing it tenderly beneath the skin of the other 
arm. In doing this, we never saw a drop of 
blood, and at the moment of insinuating the 
point of the instrument, he gave it a sudden 
twist, as if to wipe off the lymph thoroughly 
from it. Whether it was this twist which en- 
sured its efficacy or not, it is a fact that in all the 
cases, then at the eighth day after the operation, 
there was not a single failure : each had its two 
full vesicles on one arm, audits six on the other. 

There are rarely less than one thousand 
children in this establishment and in the 
year ending the 31st of December, 1S5&, 
fourteen thousand had been admitted ; but 
that number was above the average, and in 
some years there are from one to two thou- 
sand less. All who apply are admitted 
there are no restrictions. There is no turning 
box, as in some of the continental foundling 
hospitals at Rome, Florence, Naples, for in- 
stance, where a child is deposited, a bell rung, the 
child taken out of the box, and the bearer never 
seen ; but here every child is brought openly, at 
particular hours in the morning, and certain 
questions are asked, and the answers are all regis- 
tered. From seven A.M. to two P.M. all comers 
are admitted ; by far the larger portion are 
children born in wedlock ; but a consider- 
able number of the parents of such children 
do not choose to divulge their names, and 
they are consequently entered in the list as 
probably, illegitimate. The person who brings 
the child declares its sex the date of 
its birth the names of its parents (if the 
person chooses to give them), and at all 
events the Christian name of its father, and 
whether the rite of baptism has been already 
performed or not. If it has been baptised, its 
name is registered; if not, it is baptised within 
a day or two, by any surname the bearer chooses 
to declare ; but if "only the Christian name of 
the father has been given, then it is surnamed 
accordingly such a one's son, Petrovitch or lano- 
vitch, answering to our Peterson or Johnson, 
as it may happen to be, and the Christian name 
is always the name of the saint whose feast it 
may be on the day of the baptism, so that the 

Cbtrlet Dtckwu.] 


[Nortmbtr 17. 10. J 137 

whole batch baptised on any one day have the 
same Christian name. All these circumstances 
are duly noted down in the great registry of 
the hospital, each entry having its own number 
for that year. A little ivory counter is then 
attached by a thin coloured tape round the 
child's arm : black tape for the boys, red tape 
for the girls : on which counter on one side 
is engraved the date of the year, and on the 
opposite side the number which designates it 
iu the, registry. A card is given to the person 
who brought the child, on which is the same 
number and date, and at any future time the 
friends, on producing that card, may reclaim that 
child. The first step after admission is to have 
the child very carefully examined. It is taken 
to a room, stripped, and then a note is made as 
to any peculiarities; it is weighed, and the 
weight registered; any marks or deformities 
are put on record; if it is affected with 
any disease, it is removed to the appropriate 
ward. A wet-nurse is appointed to it, and it be- 
comes a denizen of the establishment for the 
next two months. 

A large number of wet-nurses are always 
applying to be engaged : chiefly, indeed nearly 
always, from the villages in the country. The 
only care taken respecting them is as to health, 
which is rigorously investigated, to an extent 
and a minuteness which English women would 
hardly submit to. Many ot the women are 
far from young, and many have, perhaps, 
suckled their own children for many months, 
and weaned them, before they apply for an 
engagement. They are clothed and entirely 
maintained during the time they remain, and 
receive fifteen kopecks a day about sixpence 
English money and return to their own homes 
with their nurslings, receiving three roubles 
a mouth (ten shillings) for the first year, and 
six for the second, and all subsequent years, 
till the child is fourteen years old. The head 
officer of the village where they reside is obliged 
to keep his eye upon them ; he sees that the 
child is living and is properly brought up ; 
and pays them the stipend. The child has a 
stock of clothes supplied on leaving the hospital, 
but uot afterwards. At the age of fourteen it 
is brought back to the authorities, and bound 
to some person, either to be taught a trade, or 
as a sen-ant ; but none of the boys are brought 
up for the army or navy ; if they ever find their 
way into either service, they do so afterwards of 
their own free choice. 

On our asking if it ever happened that a mo- 
ther who had sent her baby to the hospital 
applied and was engaged as a wet-nurse to her 
own offspring, we were told that probably such 
things occasionally happened; but it would 
always be doubtful whether the mother would 
be appointed by chance to suckle her own child, 
or would even see her own child, while in the 
hospital. They take no especial means to pre- 
vent it, and the chances may now and then be 
in the mother's favour, and she might be re- 
ceiving the public pay for bringing up her own 

The wet-nurses are very abundantly fed whilst 
in the hospital ; in proportion, however, to their 
previous habits of life. An English wet-nur.-e 
in a private family will expect meat meals 
two or three times a day, and from one to 
three pints of porter ; but* a Russian peasant 
scarcely ever tastes meat, and lives chiefly on 
dark chocolate-coloured rye bread, on tea, and 
vegetables. We inspected the kitchens, the 
dining-rooms for the nurses, and the provision 
stores. They have an excellent nourishing soup 
twice a day, a very large and unlimited supply 
of rye bread, and a sort of gruel of meat. 
They have a dinner with meat on ordinary days, 
and fish on fast days, and there are from two to 
three fast days a week in the Russian Church, 
besides Lent. But many of these peasant 
women refuse the meat ; tney have never been 
used to it, and dislike it. "They have extra 
drinks of a sort of fermented rye, slightly acid, 
which they take when thirsty, at oiscretion. 
They have also tea, and, once a day, they have a 
mug of beer, of a light and wholesome quality. 
Occasionally, for a day or two, the admission o* 
babies may nave been larger than the number of 
wet-nurses, and they are obliged to put two 
babies to one nurse, temporarily ; then they 
always select those who will not refuse meat, 
and also give them an extra allowance both of 
meat and of beer. 

The advantages and disadvantages of found- 
ling hospitals nave often been discussed, the 
encouragement to immorality being set against 
the preservation of human life. As it is, the 
loss of life is enormous, for it is calculated 
that one-fourth of the children brought to the 
Moscow and to the St. Petersburg Foundling 
Hospitals die before the first year ; but this is 
not so large a proportion as are said to die in 
London and Liverpool among the children bora 
there. Certainly, taking into consideration the 
habits of the English peasant class, or of the 
lower orders in large manufacturing towns, the ig- 
norance as to the management of children, the 
dirt, the neglect, the bad feeding, and the system 
of quieting drugs and drams, there can be no 
doubt that the infants in these large Russian 
foundling hospitals are much better off, and are 
far more sensibly and carefully preserved, than 
many left to the carelessness and stupidity of 
their own parents. It is positively known that 
a very considerable proportion of these de- 
serted children are born in wedlock, but extreme 
poverty and the hardships of life may be a par- 
tial excuse for the parents, and there is reason 
to believe that many of these children are re- 
claimed by the parents, lonz before they have 
arrived at the age at which their connexion with 
the hospital ceases. Probably the knowledge 
that they may be reclaimed at any time, in- 
duces many mothers to part with their children, 
intending to reclaim them as soon as they could 
afford it; but long before that time arrives, 
they have learned to do without them, and have 
ceased to care for them. The encouragement to 
immorality is undoubtedly considerable, though 
the system supersedes the crime of infanticide. 

138 [November 17. I860.] 


[Conducted by 

The St. Petersburg Foundling Hospital is on 
a much smaller scale than that at Moscow, 
containing not half the number of children, but 
the system is in both precisely the same. 


THE purchase of Mount Yernon from the 
American, nation was an object for the attain- 
ment of which the highest talents of the most 
gifted writer might be worthily employed. 
Edward Everett is a name well known in the 
annals of oratory, statesmanship, and literature ; 
yet it was an honour even to Edward Everett to 
devote his pen to the patriotic objects which we 
have mentioned. His oratory had already been 
exerted in its cause, not without effect, and the 
good which he had wrought by his spoken ad- 
dresses he ias now increased by his written 

Mount Yernon, as we all know, was the 
dwelling-place and is the last resting-place of 
George "Washington, Pater patrise ; it was but 
natural, therefore, that his children should desire 
to possess the paternal property. But Congress 
wouldn't buy it, Yirginia wouldn't buy it, and 
the legal representative of the illustrious general 
could hardly be expected to give up his paternal 
inheritance, even to devoted worshippers at 
Washington's shrine, without a consideration. 
For, though man wants but little here below, he 
cannot get on without a little. The legal repre- 
sentative desired, in point of fact, not unnatu- 
rally, to have a quid for his quo ; this, in the land 
of Yirginia tobacco, should have been a matter 
of but little difficulty, but it was not so easy as it 
might appear. Private speculators of the Barmtrn 
persuasion were ready enough to purchase the 
property, but the owner of Mount Yernon, to 
his honour, refused to treat with showmen. He 
preferred to live as it were on sufferance in 
his own domains, whilst enthusiastic admirers of 
his great ancestor, native tourists and foreign 
pilgrims, wandered over his grounds and strolled 
through his house, intruded upon his privacy, 
defaced his shrubbery, wrenched off the pales of 
his balustrade, broke off the projecting portions 
of his marble mantelpiece, cut down his mag- 
nolias for walking-sticks, and tried to purloin 
"the key of the Bastille, given by Lafayette 
to Washington" all, of course, in the kindliest 
spirit, that they might have mementoes of the 
mighty dead, until such time as it might please 
the Nation to pay a good round sum for the 
rights they exercised illegally. But it is hard 
to get at the Nation; he doesn't live at any 
single house in any particular street where you 
can go and call upon him and transact your 
business with him over a glass of sherry in a 
friendly sort of way. So a Mount Yernon As- 
sociation was formed with which the Nation 
might communicate by subscription, and Mr. 
Everett worked in the cause of the association 
with a will. 

The principal object of this association was to 
raise five hundred thousand dollars, and the next 

to manage Mount Yernon, when purchased, for 
the Nation, who has a great deal of business on 
his hands, and cannot, without assistance, look 
after all his property himself ; he is apt to find it 
defaced, mutilated, and whittled, by unruly mem- 
bers of even his own family, unless he employ 
watchers and guardians to keep an eye upon 
them. Ten thousand of these five hundred 
thousand dollars Mr. Everett might at once 
pay over to the association if he would con- 
tribute one paper every week, for a year, to 
the New York Ledger, a very enterprising and 
liberally-conducted journal; consequently he 
consented, and his contributions have now been 
collected in one volume, and published by Ap- 
pleton and Co., of New York, under the title of 
The Mount Yernon Papers. 

They are fifty-three in number, and derive 
their title from the object for which they were 
prepared, and not from the fact, which might be 
erroneously assumed, that each contains some 
traditions of George Washington ; indeed, it is 
only in nine of them that the principal theme is 
Washington. The others are of a miscellaneous 
character. Still, one cannot but be grateful for 
anything in the way of information or anecdote 
which may be vouchsafed by such a man as Eve- 
rett, who was personally acquainted with the Iron 
Duke of Wellington ; who has spent days and 
nights at Abbotsford with Sir Walter Scott ; who 
has conversed with Lord Byron ; who has dined 
with Louis Napoleon when the present Emperor 
of the French was a little boy eleven years of 
age ; to whom Louis the Eighteenth, and the 
Duchess d'Angouleme, and nearly all the chief 
characters of the drama in which they played 
the most conspicuous parts, appear reflected, not 
in the dim glass of history, but in the bright 
mirror of personal recollection ; of whom Pres- 
cott, and Bond, and Hallam, and Yon Hum- 
boldt, were friends, and Coray, and Ugo Foscolo, 
and Beranger, something more than acquaint- 

Number one is taken up chiefly with an ac- 
count of the origin of the Mount Yernon Associa- 
tion, and the reason for the name of the Mount 
Yernon Papers ; the second is entitled Christ- 
mas, and therein our attention is called to the 
fact that, whilst the Puritans as a body " did 
not observe it as a holiday or set it apart for 
special religious services," there was one, John 
Milton, not the least distinguished amongst 
them, who, if he paid but little respect to the 
traditions of men, paid glorious homage to the 
sacred season in Ms Hymn on the Nativity. In 
Number three, we learn that "the streets in the 
ancient city of Boston were originally laid out 
by the cows going to pasture in what is now 
Beacon-street and Park-street, and returning at 
night from those distant regions ;" the result of 
which bovine engineering was, of course, crooked 
and narrow streets so crooked, indeed, and so 
narrow, that it is said that not even a native 
Bostonian, unless he have been educated with a ' 
view to that object, can find his way about the 
city ; and it is credibly reported that a certain 
mayor of Boston owed his election to the supe- 

ChirlM DlcktBf.] 


CXownberI7. I860.) 139 

riority of his education in this particular. More- 
ilir narrowness of the streets, combined 
\viih an increase of population and tradic, has, 
at last, reduced the municipal government to 
the barbarous necessity of pulling down the 
house of Benjamin Franklin. Number four is 
headed A Safe Answer, and is rather a diil'usr 
account of some passages in the life of Reuben 
Mitchell, the Quaker ; how that he worked hard, 
and made money, and married his master's 
daughter, and bought up farms to such au ex- 
tent that the Society of Friends became alarmed, 
believing he meant to monopolise all the land 
in the country ; and how that Friend Nahum 
was deputed to ask Friend Reuben how many 
farms he had ; and how that Friend Nahum, after 
much beating about the bush, at last requested 
to know what he should say to Friends who 
asked him how many farms Friend Reuben 
.Mitchell had; and how Friend Reuben, after a 
long pause and silent calculation upon his 
fingers, which excited Friend Nahum to frenzy, 
replied, " In order to make the number neither 
too large nor too small, it will be safest for thee, 
when Friends next inquire, to tell them thee does 
not know." Number five is upon Donati's 
Comet, concluding with the following apos- 
trophe : " Return then, mysterious traveller, to 
the depths of the heavens, never again to be 
seen by the eyes of men now living ! Thou hast 
run thy race with glory, millions of eyes have 
gazed on thee with vyonder, but they shall never 
look upon thee again. Since thy last appear- 
ance in these lower skies, empires, languages, 
and races of men have passed away; the Mace- 
donian, the Alexandrian, the Augustan, the 
Parthian, jthe Byzantine, the Saracenic, the 
Ottoman dynasties, sunk or sinking into the gulf 
of ages. Since thy last appearance, old conti- 
nents have relapsed into ignorance, and new 
worlds have come out from behind the veil of 
waters. The Magian fires are quenched on the 
hill-tops of Asia, tlie Chaldean seer is blind, the 
Egyptian hierogrammatist has lost his cunning, 
the oracles are dumb. Wisdom now dwells in 
furthest Thulc, or in newly-discovered worlds 
beyond the sea. Haply when, wheeling up again 
from the celestial abysses, thou art once more 
seen by the dwellers on earth, the languages we 
speak shall also be forgotten and science shall 
have fled to the uttermost corners of the earth. 
But even then this Hand, that now marks out 
thy wondrous circuit, shall still guide thy course, 
and iheu, as uow, Hasper will smile at thy ap- 
proach, and Arcturus, with his sons, rejoice at 
thy coming." The last paragraph is rather a 
puzzler; it seems to hint that the next time 
the comet comes it will only prowl about 
" the uttermost corners of the earth," and the 
words, "even then," would lead one to infer 
that its course, under those circumstances, will 
be attended with even more than ordinary diffi- 
culties ; but this is for the consideration of as- 
tronomers. It would have been a kind atten- 
tion, while giving the comet information, to add 
that in the newly-discovered world beyond the 
aeu (.America '0 where wisdom is now "located," 

the place of the Chaldean seer is filled by the 
clairvoyant, and that of the Egyptian hierogram- 
matist by the medium who writes nonsense oack- 

rds and spells shockingly. But then the comet 
travelled so fast that there was, perhaps, no time 
to tell him more. 

Numbers six and seven are both devoted to 
" An Incursion into the Empire State," that is, 
a journey into the State of New York, in De- 
cember, in which allusion is made to an in 
tion which might be introduced with advantage 
on our English railways to wit, sleeping-cars. 
Number eight is entitled " The Parable against 
Persecution," and is a very interesting paper. 
It traces the history of this famous paraole of 
Abraham and the stranger who worshipped not 
God, from its publication by Lord Kames, in 
1774, to its quotation by Sydney Smith before 
the mayor ana corporation of Bristol, in 1829. 
It was communicated to Lord Kames by Frank- 
lin ; after the publication of it by Lord Kames, 
it was discovered in Jeremy Taylor's works, who 
speaks of it as from " the J ews' Books ;" it was 
found in the Latin dedication to the senate of 
Hamburg of a rabbinical work called the 
"Rod of Judah;" and it was ultimately traced 
to the " Flower-garden" of the Persian poet 
Saadi. The parable is given entire as it came 
from the hands of Franklin, thus : 


1. And it came to pass after these thing?, that 
Abraham sat in the door of his tent, about the going 
down of the sun. 

2. And behold a man, bowed with age, came from 
the way of the wilderness, hanging on a staff. 

3. And Abraham arose and met him, and said 
unto him, "Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, 
and tarry all night, and thou shall arise early on the 
morrow and go on thy way." 

4. And the man said, " Nay, for I will abide under 
this tree." 

5. And Abraham pressed him greatly; so he 
turned, and they went into the tent ; and Abraham 
baked unleavened bread, and they did eat. 

6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed 
not God, he said unto him, " Wherefore dost thou 
not worship the most high God, creator of heaven 
and earth t" 

7. And the man answered and said, " I do not 
worship the God thou speakest of, neither do I call 
upon his name ; for I have made to myself a god, 
which abideth always in mine house, and provideth 
me with all things." 

8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the 
man, and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him 
forth with blows into the wilderness. 

9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, 
saying, " Abraham, where is the stranger ?" 

10. And Abraham answered and said, " Lord, he 
would not worship thee, neither would he call upon 
thy name; therefore have I driven him out from 
before my face into the wilderness." 

11. And God said, " Have I borne with him these 
hundred ninety and eight years, and nourished him 
and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion 
against me, and couldst not thou, that art thyself 
a sinner, bear with him one night?" 

12. And Abraham said, " Let not the anger of the 
Lord wax hot against his servant ; lo ! I have sinned ; 
lo ! I have sinned ; forgive me, I pray thee." 

140 [November 17, I860.] 



13. And Abraham arose, and went forth into the 
wilderness, and sought diligently for the man, and 
found him, and returned with him to the tent; and 
when he had entreated him kindly, he sent him 
away ou the morrow r with gifts. 

14. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, 
" For this thy sin shall thy seed be afflicted four 
hundred years in a strange land ; 

15. " But for thy repentance will I deliver them ; 
and they shall come forth with power, and with 
gladness of heart, and with much substance." 

Number nine is the first of the papers men- 
tioned above, as relating particularly to Wash- 
ington. These papers contain selections from 
Washington's diary ; a letter from Washington 
describing his feelings when his fame had made 
him a sort of involuntary model for painters : 
which letter Mr. Everett compares -with one to 
himself from the Duke of Wellington upon the 
same subject; a description of Washington's 
southern tour, and some " critical occasions and 
incidents" in his life, which, in Mr. Everett's 
opinion, prove distinctly that Washington \vas 
under the special protection of an overruling 
Providence. If his belief be superstitious, Mr. 
Everett is content to incur the charge of super- 
stition. The point is one, perhaps, upon which 
men will never be agreed, but it may be con- 
sidered tolerably certain that, had Washington 
entered the royal navy, as he wished when a 
boy ; had he died of small-pox, as he very nearly 
did at the age of nineteen ; had he been drowned, 
as he very nearly was by falling from his raft ; 
had he not escaped miraculously at the melan- 
choly defeat of Braddock ; had he not come 
safely out from the cross-fire at Princeton ; had 
he married Mary Philipse ; or had he fallen a 
victim to any one of the untoward accidents 
which threatened him; the revolution would have 
lost the leadership of Washington. Whether 
Brutus could " raise a spirit as soon as Caesar," 
whether America was destitute of " noble 
bloods," it is bootless to inquire ; one man es- 
caped from perils innumerable, to be the father 
of his country; and that one man was Wash- 

The eleventh paper treats of Louis Napoleon. 
His boyhood, his trial in 1840 before the House 
of Peers, his election as Prince President, and 
his coup d'etat, are the chief topics ; it must have 
been with peculiar feelings that Mr. Everett, 
who in 1819 had dined with, him at the ex-King 
Louis Philippe's table, and in 1840 had witnessed 
him on trial for his life, found himself writing 
in 1859, " It devolved upon me, in an ofiicial 
capacity, to send to Mr. Rivers, the American 
minister in Paris, a letter of credence to his 
Imperial Majesty Napoleon the Third." There 
are in this paper some remarks upon the Ame- 
rican press which will seem not altogether in- 
applicable on this side of the Atlantic : " It is 
for good or for evil the most powerful influence 
that acts upon the public mind, the most power- 
ful in itself, and is the channel through which 
most other influences act. If it would learn 
that an opponent is not necessarily an un- 
principled and selfish adventurer, a traitor, a 
coward, and a knave ; and that our neighbours, 

on an average, are as honest and right-minded 
as ourselves, it would increase its own power, 
and the great interests of the country (which 
languish under the poison of our party bit- 
terness) would be incalculably promoted." 
Numbers thirteen and fifteen are full of de- 
lightful reminiscences of Abbotsford and Sir 
Walter Scott, though much of sadness clings 
to them : for all his family have passed away, 
and the magician's name alone is left. It fell to 
Mr. Everett's lot to take to Abbotsford upon 
his first visit the first copy of the Heart of Mid- 
Lothian which reached the family, " except the 
copy which had come in the shape of proof- 
sheets to the (as yet unadvised) author." Num- 
ber fourteen contains an account of the prodigy 
which " became an historical fact on the 4th of 
March, 1789," i.e. the establishment of the pre- 
sent constitution of the United States, in the 
time of profound peace, by the voluntary con- 
sent of the whole people. In the sixteenth 
paper we are presented with a slight sketch of 
the Court of France in 1818 and its great per- 
sonages: Louis the Eighteenth, with his corpulent 
figure and round unmeaning face ; the Duchess 
d'Angouleme, heroic, sad, and austere ; the 
Duke d'Angouleme, a short, thin, ordinary- 
looking man, affecting military freedom and 
pleasantries ; the Count d'Artois, afterwards 
Charles the Tenth ; the Duke de Berri, short, 
stout, and hearty ; and last, not least, the 
Duchess de Berri, whose devoted, courage when 
her husband fell by the hand of an assassin, and 
when her son was driven from his hereditary 
throne, entitle her memory to lasting honour. 
The seventeenth paper is an outline of the life 
of Lord Erskine, and contains a letter from him 
to General Washington, in which Lord Erskine 
says, " You are the only human being for whom 
I ever felt an awful reverence." The eighteenth 
and nineteenth papers are Mr. Everett's reply 
to a request that he would state the cause ot' 
the financial crisis of 1857. Mr. Everett pro- 
nounces himself not wise enough to solve the 
problem satisfactorily, but the solution he pro- 
poses is, that "the whole country, individuals 
and communities, trading-houses, corporations, 
towns, cities, states, were labouring under a 
weight of debt, beneath which the ordinary bu- 
siness relations of the country were at length ar- 
rested, and the great instrument usually employed 
for carrying them on, CREDIT, broke down." 
Numbers twenty and twenty-one have for their 
subject Travelling, and some amusing extracts 
from the Journal of Madam Sarah Knight, who 
travelled from Boston to New York on horse- 
back, in 1704, are given; accommodation in 
those days especially for ladies was anything 
but what it should be, according to Madam 
Knight, who says : " Being very hungry, I de- 
sired a fricasee, wch the Frenchman under- 
taking managed so contrary to my notion of 
Cookery, that I hastened to bed superless ; And 
being shewd the way up a pair of stairs wch 
had such a narrow passage that I had almost 

stopt by the Bulk of my Body Little 

Miss went to scratch up my Kenuell wch Kus- 

Charki Ulckeni.) 


[Xormbcr 17, 1 


sellcd as if shee'd bin in the Bam amongst the 

Husks, ;iud .suppose such was the contents of 

: ii'kin nevertheless beihL,' exeeedm^ weary, 

down I laid my poor Carkes Annou I heard 

another RoMelling noise iii ye Room called 
to know the matter Litt! ' lid she was 

making a bed for the men; who, when they 
were in Bed, complained their le^es lay out of 
it by reason of its shortness." Madam Knight 
no\v-a-days would at least want a room to her- 
self, and something softer than husks in the 
" tiokin." 

Number twenty-two is about Havre and 
Rouen : the importance of the former, owing 
to its position at the month of the Seine and 
to the American trade, is insisted upon ; and in 
connexion with the latter, the heart of Richard 
Cceur de Lion, the ignorance of William the 
Conqueror and his x mark, the Maid of Orleans, 
Voltaire, Corneille, and Schiller, receive each 
some notice. Number twenty-three is a debate of 
the question "Will there be a war in Europe?" 
This has been answered by the thunder of 
artillery, a more persuasive sound than even 
Mr. Everett's oratory. In the twenty-seventh 
paper, Adams's Express and the Express system 
of the United States are discussed. The "mis- 
sion of the Express, we learn, is not " the trans- 
portation of the heavy masses of merchandise" 
ordinarily, though sometimes, but " to carry 
parcels of considerable value in proportion to 
their size ;" and the " Expressage" as a system 
'may be saidto date .... from 1840," under 
i he management of Mr.Alviu Adams. The twenty, 
eighth paper is taken up principally with a de- 
scription of a Mat de Cocagne, or greasy pole, 
and with a tribute to the memory of Coray, the 
prcat Modern Greek scholar and patriot. The 
twenty-ninth, thirtieth and thirty-first papers 
are filled with anecdotes and reminiscences of 
Frcscott, Bond, Hallam, and Von Humboldt, 
whom Mr. Everett terms the Illustrious Dead 
of 1859 ; alas ! before the year was out, he might 
have added the names of Washington Irving 
and Macaulay. 

Italian Nationality is the theme of numbers 
thirty-two and thirty-three; Mr. Everett res- 
cues the Italians from the charge of degene- 
racy, and asserts Unity of Government to 
be all they want for the establishment of an 
Independent Nationality. Since the Roman 
ire broke up she has wanted this Unity of 
Government ; and not until she again acquires 
it derived, not as of old, from the strong au- 
thority of Rome, but from national love and 
patriotism will she assume the position to 
which her natural advantages entitle her. 
^Thc thirty-fourth paper is a treatise upon 
the Lighthouse, with an account of the dis- 
us result which attended the experiment 
of a screw-pile lighthouse upon Minot's Ledge, 
Cohasset, Massachusetts : On April 16, 
Ib51, during a terrific storm, the iron piles 
" snapped about six feet from the rock ; and 
utt-m, after having fallen to an inclination 
of about 20, thus presenting its flooring to the 
rushing waves, seemed to have been driven for- 

ward with a force that tore the piles asunder-." 
the keepers, Joseph VVilsou and Joseph Antonio, 
were lost. In the thirty-fifth of his papers, .M. . 
Everett inquires whether Prince Metternteh 
should be added to the list of the Illusti 
I )ead of 1S5D ; gives a sketch of the prince's 
career; and seems to hint that his question 
should be answered in the affirmative. The 
three next papers have already been spoken of 
as relating particularly to Washington. The fol- 
lowing epigram, extracted from the thirty-ninth 
number, may be new to a reader or so : 

Roquette, dans son temps, 
Talleyrand dans le notre, 
Furent e'veques d'Autun ; 
Tartufe fut le surnom d'un, 
Ah ! si Moliere cut connu 1'autre ! 

which Mr. Everett considers he has " poorly 

translated" thus: 

Two bishops have adorned Autnn, 
Roquette and this his modern brother ; 

Tartufe preserves the name of one, 

Oh ! had Moltere but known the other ! 

and, certainly, the second line is open to im- 
provement. The papers from forty to fifty-one 
included might be called Mr. Everett's Hand- 
book from Lyons to Brieg, for in the;n he, with 
occasional anecdotes and descriptions, carries 
the reader with him in his travels from Lyons to 
Geneva ; from Geneva to Chamouni andl Mont 
Blanc, up the Mon tan vert, across the Mer de 
Glace, to the Jardin Vert ; then back to Ge- 
neva to Rousseau's house ; to Voltaire's chateau 
at Ferney ; to Coppet, the residence of Madame 
de Stael ; to Lausanne, to the house which the 
historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire, at the still hour of midnight, on the 
27th June, 1787, penned, doubtless with a 
deep-drawn sigh of relief and yet regret, the 
last few lines of his mighty work ; from Lau- 
sanne to Freyburg; from thence to Berne; 
from Berne to Sachselu, where St. Nicholas, or 
Brother Glaus, as the peasantry affectionately 
call him, fights hard witn the Evil One that the 
harvests may be abundant, and the flocks and 
the herds increase and multiply, and the pro- 
duce of the dairy find a ready sale; from 
Sachseln to Stanz, Lucerne, Kiissnacht, and the 
chapel of William Tell ; thence to Goldau, 
Aloys Reding, Grutli, and the Tellensprung ; 
from the Tellensprung to Altorf, the valley of 
the Reuss, the Valais, and Brieg; aiul so he 
bids farewell to Switzerland. 

The forty-seventh paper is dedicated for the 
most part to a laudation of Sylvanus Wood, 
a shoemaker of diminutive stature, who, on 
the famous 19tii April, 1775, being a volun- 
teer, captured a whole British grenadier. You 
sec, he threatened to shoot the Britisher (whom 
he came upon by surprise) if he didn't sur- 
render; and not even six feet can receive a 
musket-shot with any degree of safety, though 
the trigger be pulled by a pigmy. The fifty- 
second paper is devoted to the memory of 
David Boon, the pioneer and first settler in 
Kentucky, whose exploits, trials, and troubles 

142 [November 17, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

are written for the enlightenment of the curious 
in the book of W. H. Bogart, called Daniel 
Boon and the Hunters of Kentucky. The last 
paper contains an account of the New York 
Ledger, its electrotyping, the number of " light- 
ning-presses" (ten) kept constantly at work, the 
number of persons (forty-five about) employed 
in the press-room, the amount of their wages 
(four hundred dollars) per week, the number of 
copies of the Ledger (about four hundred thou- 
sand) printed weekly, and other interesting 


WE all like to see ourselves : in fact, mirrors 
are an instinct, and, before glass and quicksilver 
were invented, nature and mother wit were at no 
loss for substitutes. Chloe used to make the 
quiet pool under the willows and the alders serve 
her turn, and the stately Roman matron built 
up her tower of frizzed curls, and gave the last 
magic touch of collyrium, by help of the polished 
plate of steel held up by her ancillae. We should 
retrograde into comparative barbarism without 
our toilet glasses to show us the outside form of 
civilisation. A mirror of our national English 
life lies now before us. It is from the work- 
shop of M. Larcher, and assumes to be a care- 
ful and distinct representation of the country 
wherein you and I were born, and of the people 
whom we call our fathers and mothers, brothers, 
sisters, wives, and friends. 

M. Larcher informs me that my round eyes, 
and the round eyes of all my friends and compa- 
triots, want vivacity ; that our lower lips are loose 
and pendulous, offering the image of intempe- 
rance; that we wear our beards only on our 
cheeks, in the manner of the ancient gendarmes 
of the departments ; that we know neither re- 
venge nor hatred, and of love only the love of 
money ; that we have an insane desire for strong 
emotions, as so much mental dram-drinking, and 
that our sole object in life is to amass sufficient 
wealth to buy these strong mental emotions: 
that we live to eat, and drink to get drunk; 
that we all dress and look exactly alike, from 
young Fitzboodle of the Guards to the cross- 
ing-sweeper at the corner; that the sole dis- 
tinguishing mark of our aristocracy is the ill- 
humour and insolent disdain imprinted on their 
countenances ; that we all have the appearance 
of monstrous dolls moved by springs, all walk- 
ing precisely alike, with arms glued to our sides, 
heads stiff and fixed, faces impassive, and 
clothes of the same pattern ; that the very sight 
of us gives a lively Frenchman the spleen, 
which he can but escape by remembering that 
lie is not condemned to live among us for ever ; 
that we are impolite, dull, taciturn, and rude : 
only tolerable when we are abroad and have put 
our nationality in our pockets ; and that we are 
horribly debauched, and not to be trusted with 
the hair of a French head. I also find that, 
owing to the generally jaded state of the na- 
tional temper, and to that need of strong mental 

dram-drinking spoken of before, the more hor- 
rible an event, the more it is enjoyed in Eng- 
land; that the tragic death of the poor Lion 
Queen in 1848 met with " an immense success ;" 
and that the moment is not far off when our 
fatigued aristocracy will have recourse, for their 
amusement, to the exciting spectacle of men 
fighting with wild beasts, as at Ephesus or 
Bayonne, Indeed, I learn from M. Larcher, 
though I did not know it before, that a society 
of capitalists is already formed for the erection 
of a vast circus where men are to contend with 
bears. Turning over a few pages, I find that I 
consider the wife of my bosom as an inferior 
creature, and that she submits cheerfully to 
her degraded condition. (I always thought it 
was the other way ; but I suppose I am mis- 
taken in this also.) I find, too, that I believe 
in her fidelity only in proportion to her cold- 
ness and disdain to myself ; that she is a 
greater slave to dress than a Parisienne, and 
that she sacrifices to this inexorable master 
every other duty and convenience of life. M. 
Larcher says that I did not marry for love. 
No one in England does; we only marry for 
a fortune, or to change the current of our 
griefs. Neither am I jealous people never are 
jealous of inferior things, says M. Larcher, with 
his trenchant Gallic logic. Before I married 
Mrs. Jones she had had, I am informed, nume- 
rous lovers, so have had her sisters, so have 
all my countrywomen, who almost invariably 
forfeit their claim to a wedding garment of 
white ; but we complaisant husbands do not 
fret about our ante-nuptial wrongs ; we under- 
stand what this ante-nuptial must needs have 
been, and accept our portion with magnanimity. 
Provided our inferior creatures are faithful to 
us when we have got them, we never inquire 
into the number or condition of those to whom 
they have been unfaithful before us. This is 
the quiet, sober, unblushing opinion of an edu- 
cated man, within two hours of England, con- 
cerning the morals and reputations of our fair 
young English girls ! To conclude ; woman here 
is a degraded being, with few illusions, and of 
slavish submission ; knowing the fate reserved 
for her, and how she will one day marry a 
drunkard who will ill-treat her, and how she 
will pass the remainder of her life in bearing 
and bringing up her innumerable children, hold- 
ing only the rank of an upper servant, she 
satisfies, embrutes, and stupifies herself by 
eating like an ogress and drinking like a fish ! 

I never quite understood what the ladies did 
in the drawing-room after they had retired, and 
while we were left to our wine and walnuts ; 
but I am no longer ignorant. M. Larch^r 
obligingly explains to me that while I and the 
rest of the gentlemen sit in the dining-room, 
emptying our bottles of port, Madeira, Bor- 
deaux, and champagne, my dear Mrs. Jones and 
her companions are emptying many bottles of 
cognac brandy in the drawing-room. This is a 
very different occupation from the mild gossip 
about servants, dress, and babies, which we men 
have a kind of traditionary faith forms the staple 

ChtrUl DkkMU.] 


, 1MO.] 143 

of our wives' conversation among themselves, 
when they put their heads confidentially to- 
gether on the state sofa by the fireplace. It 
will be a blessing, indeed, if, when we come up 
stairs half tipsy ourselves, we do not find the 
partners of our fortunes wholly so to receive 
us. They must have strong heads, if M. 
Larcher speaks the truth. Furthermore, I am 
told that, towards the age of forty, every "comme 
il faut" woman gets tipsy before she goes to bed, 
under pretence of stomach-ache and disordered 
digestion ; and that there is not a woman of the 
lower classes who may not frequently be picked 
up out of the gutter. M. Larcher has many 
times assisted at such pickings up, and his ser- 
vices were thankfully accepted ; for it always 
takes three men to manage a drunken English- 

But if M. Larcher is pitiless, what is MADAME 
FLOKA TRISTAN ? Let me give the whole name, 
with all possible typographical honour. What 
have I and my compatriots ever done to Ma- 
dame Flora Tristan, that she should be so fierce 
and wrathful P and where, for goodness' sake, has 
Madame Flora been, to have ever stumbled upon 
the sights which she so graphically describes ? 
I flatter myself that I know town pretty well ; 
also, I am afraid, I know something of the 
"saloons" and "finishes" of which this pure- 
minded French person speaks ; but I have never 
even heard of the things which she says she lias 
seen with her own undoubted eyes, ana certainly 
I have never seen anything in the remotest degree 
resembling them. I have never seen beautiful 
women in white satin and pearl diadems, forced 
to drink a horrible mixture of pepper, salt, 
vinegar, and mustard, which naturally flings 
them into frightful convulsions, at which all the 
guests laugh and cheer ; nor have I even seen 
these same beautiful women lying in a help- 
less mass of drunkenness on the floor, then 
brutally kicked by waiters out of their way, 
while each guest pours brandy, gin, and rum 
over their magnificent arms, and some tear their 
white satin dresses, and others spurn them with 
their feet. 

M. Larcher is a man of extreme sensibility as 
well as of uneasy morality, and sees deeper into 
the millstone of hidden vice than most people 
would. Here follows an instance of his hedge- 
hog-like propriety. He is invited to dine at 
the house of one of our richest men ; indeed, 
one of the richest men on the globe. The 
house is marvellous, fairylike ; everything most 
Ivuutiful is there in profusion, and everything 
is perfect, from the largest to the smallest. 
The English tnillionnaire throws a little osten- 
tation into his entertainment, which is only for 
three persons ; his object being to dazzle the 
French book-writer and his frieud ; but the os- 
tentation is kindly meant, and the book-writer 
is not too critical, until the serpent peeps round 
the corner. Breakfast is served, when, to wait 
at table, appear throe very pretty servant-maids : 
M. Larcher calls them daughters of Eve, and 
says that they are of a ravishing beauty. Most 
Englishmen, we think, would have accepted this 

fact of female service in the house of a million- 
naire, as a peculiar characteristic, perhaps as an 
eccentricity ; M. Larcher sees deeper. Imme- 
diately the viands choke him, the flowers fade, 
the gorgeous appointments are full of poison, 
and snakes' heads abound. 

We are a bad, vile, mischancy set, every way ; 
and our whole moral life may be photographed by 
one word INTEREST. To our own interest we 
refer every moral and social question, while 
using all our science and cleverness to dis- 
simulate and conceal this fact; we are also 
"the most greedy, the most selfish, the most 
egotistical people in Europe ;" and the most 
inconsequent. We men, getting intoxicated, 
leave our wives and children to starve ; some 
of us cast a hundred thousand francs at the 
feet of a public singer, but fly into a rage if 
our servants eat a few potatoes beyond their 
prescribed rations ; others of us ostentatiously 
give two hundred and fifty thousand francs to a 
public subscription for the poor, but pitilessly 
deny a crust of bread to a famishing wretch. 
We are all alike ; father, mother, wives, children; 
we all live only for ourselves, see only ourselves, 
seek only our own satisfaction. What wonder, 
then, that we are too vile for an honest sympa- 
thetic Frenchman, with this unbridled selfish- 
ness as the very root of our being ? 

It is notorious that I dance in an ungainly 
fashion. We English do not take our stand 
upon the minor graces; but is it true that I 
dance so ill that M. Larcher is forced to go into 
a retired corner and there personate Laughter, 
holding both his sides, for fear of splitting them, 
at my grotesqueness ? I always thought that 
there was more to be seen at Mabille,than all the 
casinos of London could show. But M. Larcher 
knows best ; he knows all infinitely better than 
I know myself ; he knows all about me, from 
the richest man on the globe who asks me to 
breakfast, and causes me to be served by three 
ravishing daughters of Eve, to the drunken 
butler, who is to be found glorious at the " shop- 
house" (maison boutique, translates M. Larcher, 
for the benefit of his Parisian readers), or who, 
haply, may be heard of selling his wife at 
" Smith-field Marquet," or boating in a coal- 
barge on the river Tyne-Tyne wherever that 
may be I should have supposed, in China, but 
for M. Lai-Cher's assurance. 

In matters of religion, I find that I am not 
only abominably bigoted, but also under the 
command of the Archbishop Primalt to an extent 
I never dreamed of. So far as I am concerned, 
I always understood that the Archbishop Primalt 
was a highly venerable functionary, who allows 
me to marry, for a consideration ; and to take 
possession of my inheritance, also for a con- 
sideration ; but beyond this, that venerated 
ecclesiastic has had no perceptible influence 
over my life that I am aware of. Yet I find 
that he has not only absolute power over me, and 
over every one in his archbishopric, but that he 
even uses this power, and that we submit to it 
without a murmur. Thus, not long ago, he took 
umbrage at the fact that many of the Protestant 



[November 17, IsCO.] 

singers and actors at the various theatres were 
wont, on the Sundays, to lend their voices to the 
Catholic chapels, and to assist in rendering the 
music of the mass an imposing feature in the 
service. Acting on his reverend authority, he 
issued a circular forbidding his flock so to em- 

Eloy their voices ; and his flock obeyed, doubt- 
;ss, under pain of instant excommunication. 
M. Larcher supplies this anecdote for the in- 
formation of the lovers of truth : " Some years 
since, a rich citizen of London died, and 
left Miss B., who did not at all know him, 
a fortune mounting up to several millions. 
No one would be able to imagine the motive 
of this unexpected munificence. ' I beg,' he 
wrote, ' Miss B. to accept the gift , of my 
entire fortune, too small to express the inex- 
pressible sensations which, for three years, the 
contemplation of her adorable nose lias given 
me.' Fearing some error or mystification, Miss 
B. inquired of the lawyers, who came to get her 
signature for the acceptance of the legacy, if the 
testator was interred ? ' No/ replied they. ' Then 
conduct me to him !' Here the astonishment 
became general. ' It is he !' cries Miss B., on 
uncovering the face of the deceased. ' It is the 
man who for three years pursued me with his 
compliments and his verses in honour of my 
nose ! At Hyde Park, at Covent Garden, he 
was always before me, and incessantly staring !' 
Miss B. deigned to accept the millions." 

Cutting the leaves of this veracious volume in 
a sleepy, indolent kind of manner, I am suddenly 
aroused by finding that I never take oif my hat 
to a lady, but only to a horse the reason being, 
that a woman causes me to spend money, and 
a horse causes me to gain it : wherefore 1 love, 
pat, caress my horse, but in no wise love, pat, or 
caress my wife ; nor do I salute any lady what- 
soever, but only my favourite racer. I also find 
that my wife and sisters put trousers on the 
legs of their pianos, chairs, and tables ; that 
they never talk of the leg of a fowl, or ask for 
a slice of leg of mutton, but prefer a modest 
request for the limb of a chicken, and desire a 
little slice of that limb of mutton. Anything 
else would be " very shocking," and would put 
English prudery quite out of countenance. Again, 
I find that I have no fruit worth eating, either 
in my garden or my greenhouse: that, with the ex- 
ception of apples, gooseberries, and coarse black 
cherries, nothing ripens or comes to maturity ; 
that my hot-house produces nothing but inodo- 
rous and tasteless monstrosities ; and that the 
only thoroughly ripened fruit which I can offer 
to my friends is a baked apple. I grow nothing 
in perfection but grass ; and cattle are the only 
really well fed and contented animals in my 
jsland. The people are notoriously ill fed; and 
I owe my existence to French ideas in stews 
aud sauces. 

When I give a rout, I send out from five to 
six thousand letters of invitation ; I illuminate 

the facade of my hotel, and turn every bedroom 
into a reception-room. My five or six thousand 
guests arrive with a remarkable punctuality; 
but, notwithstanding the care which I take 'in 
sending out my invitations, I never fail to receive 
among those guests, a certain number of thieves 
and pickpockets, who steal the ladies' cloaks 
and ornaments, and whose exploits are vaunted 
in the next day's journal with infinite complai- 
sance. In these routs I find my greatest plea- 
sure in intoxicating my guests M. Larcher 
lias seen me do it and I close the debauch 
with tea, aud grogs of brandy, gin, and rum ; 
also with tea " laced " with rum which, I am 
told, has been always a favourite beverage of 
mine. If I give a dinner, the ladies retire so 
soon as the bottles appear ; one of my guests 
cries " ob-or-nob," which is a kind "of table 
tocsin to warn the rest to prepare for toasts ; 
and then we fall to drinking in earnest. M. 
Larcher magnanimously confesses that we do 
not drink so much as formerly, though we still 
only drink alcohol slightly flavoured with grape 
juice, as our nearest approach to wine, and still 
reject the purest and best growths as tasteless 
and insipid. 

Of all people in the world we English are 
the most thievish. "To steal is not to sin," 
say our thieves, and every one is a thief. 
The only sin in cheating is in being found 
out; excepting for this, no English con- 
science is ever troubled by a theft. Govern- 
ment officials, merchants, tradespeople, gentry, 
lower orders, all steal, thieve, rob, accord' 
ing to our respective opportunities, and we 
all enjoy a certain reputation and respect when 
we do it well. Thus, the professional thief i& 
by no means disregarded among us ; indeed, as 
he and the policeman are the sole polished mem- 
bers of English society, I suppose he is one of 
our most cherished institutions. 

Drunken, selfish, immoral, cruel, greedy, ava- 
ricious, jaded, dishonest. M. Larcher ! M. 
Larcher ! Wonderfully informed man ! A Daniel 
come (into the Lion's Den) to judgment ! 



Will be commenced 




To be continued from week to week until completed 
in about EIGHT MONTHS. 



The r'ujht of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR BOUND is reserved by the Authors. 

Published at the OSIco. Xo. 26, Wellington Street. Strand. Printed by C. WinrtxG. Beaufort House, Strand. 









As between the man who achieves greatness 
and him who has greatness thrust upon him 
there lies a whole world of space, so is there 
an immense interval between one who is the 
object of his own delusions and him who forms 
the subject of delusion to others. 

My reader may have already noticed that no- 
thing was easier for me than to lend myself to 
tin; idle current of my fancy. Most men who 
build " castles in Spain," as the old adage calls 
them, do so purely to astonish their friends. / 
indulged in these architectural extravagances 
in a very different spirit. I built my castle to 
live in it; from foundation to roof-tree, I 
planned every detail of it to suit my own taste, 
and all my study was to make it as habitable 
and comfortable as I could. Ay, and what's 
more, live in it I did, though very often the 
tenure was a brief one ; sometimes while break- 
ing my egg at breakfast, sometimes as I drew 
on my gloves to walk out, and yet no terror of 
a short lease ever deterred me from finishing 
the edifice in the most expensive manner. I 
gilded my architraves and Irescoed my ceilings 
as though all were to endure for centuries; 
and laid out the gardens and disposed the par- 
terres as though I were to walk in them in my 
extreme old age. This faculty of lending myself 
to an illusion by no means adhered to me where 
the deception was supplied by another; from 
the moment I entered one of their castles, I 
felt myself in a strange house. I continually 
forgot where the stairs were, what this gallery 
opened on, where that corridor led to. No use 
was it to say, " You are at home here. You are 
at your owu fireside." I knew and I felt that I 
was not. 

By this declaration, I mean my reader to un- 
derstand that, while ready for any exigency of 
a story devised by myself, I was perfectly mi- 
serable at playing a part written for me by a 
friend ; nor was this feeling diminished by the 
thought that I really did not know the person I 
was believed to represent ; nor had I the very 
vaguest clue to his antecedents or belongings. 

As I set out in search of Miss Herbert, these 
i he reflections T revolved, occasionally ask- 
ing myself, " Is the old lady at all touched in 
the upper story ? Is there not something Private 

Asylum-ish in these wanderings ?" But still, 
apart from this special instance, she was a 
marvel of acuteness and good sense. I found 
Miss Herbert in a little arbour at her work ; 
the newspaper on the bench beside her. 

" So," said she, without looking up, " you 
have been making a long visit up-stairs. You 
found Mrs. Keats very agreeable, or you were 
so yourself." 

" Is there anything wrong hereabouts?" said 
I, touching my forehead with my finger. 

" Nothing whatever." 

" No fancies, no delusions about certain 
people ?" 

" None whatever." 

" None of the family suspected of anything 
odd, or eccentric ?" 

" Not that I have ever heard of. Why do 
you ask ?" 

" Well, it was a mere fancy, perhaps, on my 
part; but her manner to-day struck me as 
occasionally strange almost nighty." 

" And on what subject ?" 

" I am scarcely at liberty to say that ; in fact, 
I am not at all free to divulge it," said I, mys- 
teriously, and somewhat gratified to remark that 
I had excited a most intense curiosity on her 
part to learn the subject of our interview. 

" Oh, pray do not make any imprudent reve- 
lations to me," said she, pettishly; "which, 
apart from the indiscretion, would have the 
singular demerit of affording me not the slightest 
pleasure. I am not afflicted with the malady of 

" What a blessing to you ! Now, I am the 
most inquisitive of mankind. I feel that if I 
were a clerk in a bank, I'd spend the day prying 
into every one's account, and learning the exact 
state of his balance-sheet. If I were employed 
in the post-office, no terror of the law could 
restrain me from reading the letters. Tell me 
that any one has a secret m his heart, and I feel 
I could cut him open to get at it !" 

"I don't think you are giving a flatter- 
ing picture of yourself in all this," said she, 

" I am aware of that, Miss Herbert ; but I 
am also one of those who do not trade upon 
qualities they have no pretension to." 

She flushed a deep crimson at this, and after 
a moment said : 

' Has it not occurred to you, sir, that people 
who seldom meet except to exchange ungracious 



146 [Xovenrter 24, 18(10.] 


[Conducted by 

remarks, would show more judgment by avoid- 
ing each other's society ?" 

"Oh, how my heart thrilled at tins pettish 
speech ! lu. Hans Griitcr's Courtship, he says, 
" I knew she loved me, for we never met with- 
out a quarrel." "I have thought of that too, 
Miss Herbert," said I, " but there are outward 
observances to be kept up, conventionalities to 
be respected." -. 

" None of which, however, require that you 
should come out and sit here while I am at my 
work," said she, with suppressed passion. 

" I came out here to search for the news- 
paper," said I, taking it up, and stretching my- 
self on the grassy sward to read at leisure. 

She arose at once, and gathering all the 
articles of her work into a basket, walked away. 

" Don't let me hunt you away, Miss Her- 
bert," said I, indolently ; " anywhere else will 
suit me just as well. Pray don't go." But 
without vouchsafing to utter a word, or even 
turn her head, she continued her way towards 
the house. 

" The morning she slapped my face," says 
Hans, "filled the measure of my bliss, for I 
then saw she could not control her feelings for 
me." This passage recurred to me as I lay 
there, and I hugged myself in the thought that 
such a moment of delight might yet be mine. 
The profound German explains this sentiment 
well. " With women," says he, " love is like 
the idol worship of an Indian tribe ; at the mo- 
ment their hearts are bursting with devotion, 
they like to cut and wound and maltreat their 
god. With them this is the ecstasy of their 

I now saw that the girl was in love with me, 
and that she did not know it herself. I take it 
that the sensations of a man who suddenly dis- 
covers that the pretty girl he has been admiring 
is captivated by his attentions, are very like 
what a head clerk may feel at being sent for by 
the house and informed that he is now one of 
the firm ! This may seem a commercial formula 
to employ, but it will serve to show my mean- 
ing, and as I lay there on that velvet turf, what 
a delicious vision spread itself around me. At 
one moment we were rich, travelling in splen- 
dour through Europe, amassing art-treasures 
wherever we went, and despoiling all the great 
galleries of their richest gems. I was the as- 
sociate of all that was distinguished in litera- 
ture and science, and my wife the chosen friend 
of queens and princesses. How unaffected we 
were, how unspoiled by fortune ! Approachable 
by all, our graceful benevolence seemed to 
elevate its object and make of the recipient the 
benefactor. What a world of bliss this vile dross 
men call gold can scatter ! " There there, good 

Seople," said I, blandly, waving my hand, " no 
ruminations, no bonfires your happy faces are 
the brightest of all welcomes." Then we were 
suddenly poor out of caprice just to see how 
we should like it and living in a little cottage 
under Snowdon, and I was writing, Heaven 
knows what, for the periodicals, and my wife 
rocking a little urchin in a cradle, whom we con- 

stantly awoke by kissing, each pretending that it 
was all the other's fault, till we ratified a peace in 
the same fashion. Then I remembered the night, 
never to be forgotten, when I received my ap- 
pointment as something in the antipodes, and 
we went up to town to thank the great man 
who bestowed it, and he asked us to dinner, and 
he was, I fancied, more than polite to my wife 
and I sulked about it when we got home, and 
she petted and caressed me, and we were better 
friends than ever, and I swore I would not ac- 
cept the minister's bounty, and we set off back 
again to our cottage in Wales, and there we 
were when I came to myself once more. 

It is always pleasant at least I have ever 
felt it so, on awaking from a dream, or a reverie 
to know that one has borne himself well in some 
imaginary crisis of difficulty and peril. I like 
to think that I was in no hurry to get into the 
long-boat. I am glad I gave poor Dick that 
last fifty-pound note my last in the world 
and I rejoice to remember that I did not run 
away from that grizzly bear, but sent the four- 
pound ball right into the very middle of his 
forehead. You feel in all these that the metal 
of your nature has been tested, and come out 
pure gold : at all events, I did, and was very 
happy thereat. It was not till after some little 
time that I could get myself clear out of dream- 
land, and back to the actual world of small 
debts and difficulties, and then I bethought me 
of the newspaper which lay unread beside me. 

I began it now, resolved to examine it from 
end to end, till I discovered the passage that al- 
luded to me. It was so far pleasant reading, that 
it was novel and original. A very able leader set 
forth that nothing couldequal the blessings of the 
Pope's rule at Rome no people were so happy 
so prosperous or so contented that all the 
granaries were full, and all the gaols empty, 
and the only persons of small incomes in the 
state were the cardinals, and that they were too 
heavenly-minded to care for it. After this there 
came some touching anecdotes of that good man 
the late King of Naples. And then there was a 
letter from Frohsdorf, with fifteen francs en- 
closed to the inhabitants of a village submerged 
by an inundation. There were pleasant little 
paragraphs, too, about England, and all the 
money she was spending to propagate infidelity 
and spread the slave-trade the two great and 
especial objects of her policy after which 
came insults to Erance and injustice to Ireland. 
The general tone of the print was war with every 
one but some twenty or thirty old ladies and 
gentlemen living in exile somewhere in Bohemia. 
Now none of these things touched me, and I was 
growing very weary of my search when I lighted 
upon the following : 

" We are informed, on authority that we can- 
not question, that the young C. de P. is now 
making the tour of Germany alone and in dis- 
guise, his object being to ascertain for himself 
iiow the various relatives of his house, on the 
maternal side, would feel affected by any move- 
ment in France to renew his pretensions. 
Strange, undignified, and ill advised as such a 


r J4, 

1 17 

step must seem, there is nothing in it at all re- 
pulsive to the well-known traditions of the 
.ranch. Our informant himself met 
\layence, and speedily recognised him 
>l resemblance he bears to the 
late duchess, his mother, he addressed him at 
once by MB title, but was met by the cold assu- 
rance that he was mistaken, and that a casual 
similarity in feat HITS had already led others 
into tbo same error. The general for our in- 
formant is an old and honoured soldier of F 
confessed he was astounded at the 'aplomb' 
an* self-possession displayed by so young a man ; 
and although their conversation lasted for nearly 
an hour, and ranged over a wide field, the C. 
never for an instant exposed himself to a detec- 
tion, nor offered the slightest clue to his real 
rank and station. Indeed, he affected to be 
English by birth, which his great facility in the 
laaffuagc enabled him to do. When he quitted 
Mayence it was for central Germany." 

Here was the whole mystery revealed, and I 
was no less a person then a royal prince very 
like my mother, but neither so tall nor robust 
as my distinguished father ! " Oh, Potts ! in all 
the wildest ravings of your most florid moments 
you never arrived at this !" 

A very strange thrill went through mo as I 
finished this paragraph. It came this wise. 
There is, in one of Hoffman's tales, the story of 
a man who, in a compact with the Fiend, ac- 
quired the power of personating whomsoever he 
pleased, but who, sated at last with the enjoy- 
ment of this privilege, and eager for a new sen- 
sation, determined he would try whether the 
part of the Devil himself might not be amusing. 
Apparently Meplustopheles won't stand joking, 
for he resented the liberty by depriving the 
transgressor of his identity for ever, and made 
htm become each instant whatever character oc- 
curred to the mind of him he talked to. 

Though the parallel scarcely applied, tho very 
thought of it sent an aguish thrill through me 
; ror so great and acute that it was very 
long before I could turn the medal round anc 
read it on the reverse. There, indeed, was 
matter for vainglory ! " It was but t'other day," 
thought I, " and Lord Keldrum and his friends 
fancied I was their intimate acquaintance, Jack 
,-oyne; and though they soon found oat the 
. . vor led to an invitation to dinner, 
a delightful evening, and, alas! that I shouk 
own, & variety of consequences, some of which 
proved less delightful. Now, however, Fortune 
is in a more amiable mood : she will have it 
that i resemble a prince. It is a project whicl 
I neither aid nor abet ; but I am not churlish 
enough to refuse the r6lc any more than '. 
should, spoil the Christmas revelries of i 
country-house by declining a part in a tableau 
or in private theatricals. I say, in the one case 
as in the other, ' Here is Potts ! make of him 
will. Never is he happier than bi 
pleasure to his friends.' To what end 
I would ask, should I rob that old lady up-atair 
at > Gently a widow, and with not to< 

many enjoyments to solace her old age wh 

lould I rob her of what she has herself called 
proudest episode in her life ? Are not, as 
ic moralists tell us, all our joys fleeting ? Why, 
"ion, object to this one that it may only last for 
few days ? Let us suppose it only to endure 
hronghout our journey, and the poor old soul 
rill be so happy, never caring for the fatigues 
f the road, never fretting about the innkeepers' 
harges, but delighted to know that his royal 
ighuess enjoys himself, and sits over his bottle 
f Chambertin every evening in the garden, ap- 
iarently as devoid of care as though he were a 

1 cannot say how it may be with others, 
iut, for myself I have always experienced an 
mmense sense of relief, actual repose, when- 
ever I personated somebody else; I felt as though 
'. had left the man Potts at home to rest and 
efresh himself, and took an airing as another 
jentleman : just as I might have spared my 
\vn paletot by putting on a friend's coat in a 
hunderstorm. Now I did wish for a little re- 
pose, I felt it would be good for me. As to the 
special part allotted me, I took it just as an 
obliging actor plays Hamlet or the Cock to con- 
venience the manager. Mrs. Keats likes it, 
and, I repeat, I do not object to it. 

It was evident that the old lady was not 
going to communicate her secret to her com- 
panion, and this was a great source of satisfac- 
ion to me. Whatever delusions I threw around 
Miss Herbert I intended should be lasting. 
The traits in which I would invest myself to 
her eyes, mypersonal prowess, coolness in danger, 
skill at all manly exercises, together with a large 
range of general gifts and acquirements, I meant 
;o accompany me through aU time, and I am a 
sufficient believer in magnetism to feel assured 
;hat by imposing upon her I should go no small 
^art of the roaa to deceiving myself, and that 
;he first step in any gift is to suppose you are 
eminently suited to it, is a well-known and 
readily acknowledged maxim. Women grow 
pretty from looking in the glass ; why shoald not 
men grow brave from constantly contemplating 
their own courage ? 

" Yes, Potts', be a Prince, and see how it 
will agree with you !" 


MRS. KEATS came down, and our dinner 
that clay was somewhat formal. I don't think 
any of us felt quite at case, and, for my own 
part, it was a relief to roe when the old lady 
asked my leave to retire after her coffee. " If 
you should feel lonely, sir, and if Miss Her- 
bert's company would prove agreeable " 

"Yes," saidl, languidly, "that young person 
will find me in the garden.' 31 And therewith I gave 
my orders for a small table under a great weep- 
ing-ash, and the usual accompaniment of my 
after dinner hours, a cool flask of Chambertin. 
I had time to drink more than two-thirds of my 
Burgundy before Miss Herbert appeared. It 
was not that the hour hung heavily on me, or 
that I was not in a mood of considerable enjoy- 

148 [November 2t, 1SGO.] 


[Conducted by 

meat, but, somehow, I was beginning to feel 
chafed and impatient at her long delay. Could 
she possibly have remonstrated against the im- 

Oriety of being left alone \vith a young man? 
she heard, by any mischance, that imper- 
tinent phrase by which I designated her ? Had 
Mrs. Keats herself resented the cool style of 
my permission by a counter-order ? "I wish I 
knew what detains her !" cried I to myself, 
just as I heard her step on the gravel, and 
then saw her coming, in very leisurely fashion, 
up the walk. 

Determined to display an indifference the 
equal of her own, I waited till she was al- 
most close ; and then, rising languidly, I offered 
her a chair with a superb air of Brummelism, 
while I listlessly said, "Won't you take a 
seat r" 

It was growing duskish, but I fancied I saw 
a smile on her lip as she sat down. 

" May I offer you a glass of wine, or a cigar ?" 
said I, carelessly. 

" Neither, thank you," said she, with gra- 

"Almost all women of fashion smoke, now-a- 
days," I resumed. " The Empress of the French 
smokes this sort of thing here ; and the Queen 
of Bavaria smokes and chews." 

She seemed rebuked at this, and said no- 

"As for myself," said I, " I am nothing with- 
out tobacco positively nothing. I remember 
one night it was the fourth sitting of the Con- 
gress at Paris that Sardinian fellow, you know 
his name, came to me and said, 

"'There's that confounded question of the 
Danubian Provinces coming on to-morrow, and 
Gortschakoff is the only one who knows any- 
thing about it. Where are we to get at any- 
thing like information ?' 

" ' When do you want it, count ?' said I. 

" ' To-morrow, by eleven at latest. There must 
be at least a couple of hours to study it before 
the Congress meets.' 

" ' Tell them to bring in ten candles, fifty 
cigars, and two quires of foolscap,' said I ; ' and 
let no one pass this door till I ring.' At ten 
minutes to eleven next morning he had in his 
hands that memoir which Lord C. said em- 
bodied the prophetic wisdom of Edmund Burke 
with the practical statesmanship of the great 
Commoner. Perhaps you have read it ?" 

" No, sir." 

" Your tastes do not probably incline to 
affairs of state. If so, only suggest what you'd 
like to talk on. I am indifferently skilled in 
most subjects. Are you for the poets ? I am 
ready, from Dante to the Bigelow Papers. Shall 
it be arts ? I know the whole thing from 
Memmling and his long-nosed saints, to Leech 
and the Punchists. Make ifc antiquities, agri- 
culture, trade, dress, the drama, conchology, or 
cock-fighting I'm your man; so go in, and 
don't be afraid that you'll disconcert me." 

"I assure you, sir, that my fears would 
attach far more naturally to my own insuffi- 

" Well," said I, after a pause, " there's some- 
thing in that. Macaulay used to be afraid of 
me. Whenever Mrs. Montagu Stanhope asked 
him to one of her Wednesday dinners, he always 
declined if I was to be there. You don't seem 
surprised at that ?" 

" No, sir," said she, in the same quiet, grave 

"What's the reason, young lady," said I, 
somewhat sternly, "that you persist in saying 
' sir' on every occasion that you address me ? 
The ease of that intercourse that should sub- 
sist between us is marred by this American- 
ism. The pleasant interchange of thought loses 
the charming feature of equality. How is 

" I am not at liberty to say, sir." 

" You are not at liberty to say, young lady ?" 
said I, severely. " You tell me distinctly that 
your manner towards me is based upon a some- 
thing which you must not reveal ?" 

" I am sure, sir, you have too much generosity 
to press me on a subject of which I cannot, or 
ought not, to speak." 

That fatal Burgundy had got into my brains, 
while the princely delusion was uppermost ; 
and if I had been submitted to the thumbscrew 
now, I would have died one of the Orleans family. 
" Mademoiselle," said I, grandly, " I have been 
fortunately, or unfortunately, brought up in a 
class that neper tolerates contradiction. When 
we ask, we feel that we order." 

" Oh, sir, if you but knew the difficulty I am 
in " 

"Take courage, my dear creature," said I, 
blending condescension with something warmer. 
" You will at least be reposing your confidence 
where it will be worthily oestowed." 

" But I have promised, not exactly promised, 
but Mrs. Keats enjoined me imperatively not to 
betray what she revealed to me." 

" Gracious Powers !" cried I, " she has not 
surely communicated my secret she has not 
told you who I am ?" 

" No, sir, I assure you most solemnly, that 
she has not ; but being annoyed by what she 
remarked as the freedom of my manner towards 
you at dinner, the readiness with which I replied 
to your remarks, and what she deemed the want 
of deference I displayed for them, she took me 
to task this evening, and without intending it, 
even before she knew, dropped certain expres- 
sions which showed me that you were one of the 
very highest in rank, though it was your plea- 
sure to travel for the moment in this obscurity 
and disguise. She quickly perceived the indis- 
cretion she had committed, and said, ' Now, 
Miss Herbert, that an accident has put you in 
possession of certain circumstances, which I had 
neither the will nor the right to reveal, will you 
do me the inestimable favour to employ this 
knowledge in such a way as may not compromise 
me.' I told her, of course, that I would j and 
having remarked how she occasionally inad- 
vertently, perhaps used 'sir,' in addressing 
you, I deemed the imitation a safe one, while 
it as constantly acted as a sort of monitor 

ChulM Dlckcni.] 


[November 14, IMO.J 1 4Q 

over myself to repress any relapse into fami- 

" I am very sorry for all this," said I, taking 
her hand in mine, and employing my most insi- 
nuating of manners towards her. "As it is 
more than doubtful that I shall ever resume 
the station that once pertained to me ; as, in 
fact, it may be my fortune to occupy for the rest 
of life an humble and lowly condition, my 
ambition would have been to draw towards me 
in that modest station such sympathies and 
affections as might attach to one so circum- 
stanced. My plan was to assume an obscure 
name, seek out some unfrequented spot, and 
there, with the love of one one only solve the 
great problem, whether happiness is not as 
much the denizen of the thatched cottage as of 
the gilded palace. The first requirement of my 
scheme was that my secret should be in my own 
keeping. One can steel his own heart against 
vain regrets and longings ; but one cannot secure 
himself against the influence of those sym- 
pathies which come from without, the unwise 
promptings of zealous followers, the hopes and 
wishes of those who read your submission as 
mere apathy." 

I paused and sighed ; she sighed too, and 
there was a silence between us. 

"Must she not feel very happy and very 
proud," thought I, " to be sitting there on the 
same bench with a prince, her hand in his, and 
he pouring out all his confidence in her ear? 
I cannot fancy a situation more full of in- 

" After all, sir," said she, calmly, " remember 
that Mrs. Keats alone knows your secret. / have 
not the vaguest suspicion of it." 

" And yet," said I, tenderly, " it is to you I 
would confide it ; it is in your keeping I would 
wish to leave it ; it is from you I would ask 
counsel as to my future." 

" Surely, sir, it is not to such inexperience 
as mine you would address yourself in a diffi- 

" The plan I would carry out demands none 
of that crafty argument called ' knowing the 
world.' All that acquaintance with the by-play 
of life, its conventionalities and exactions, 
would be sadly out of place in an Alpine village, 
or a Tyrolese Dorf, where I mean to pitch my 
tent. Do you not think that your interest might 
be persuaded to track me so far ?" 

" Oh, sir, I shall never cease to follow your 
steps with the deepest anxiety." 

" Would it not be possible for me to secure a 
lease of that sympathy ?" 

" Can you tell me what o'clock it is, sir ?" 
said she, very gravely. 

"Yes," said I, rather put out by so sud- 
den a diversion; "it is a few minutes after 

" Pray excuse my leaving you, sir, but Mrs. 
Keats takes her tea at nine, and will expect me." 
And, with a very respectful curtsey, she with- 
drew, before I could recover from my astonish- 
ment at this abrupt departure. 

" I trust that my royal highness said nothing 

indiscreet," muttered I to myself; "though, 
upon my life, this hasty exit would seem to 
imply it." 


BUILDING-STONES are obtained more or less 
from every geological formation known. Granite 
was used by the Egyptian, alabaster by the 
Assyrian, marble by the Greek, and sandstones 
and limestones by the Romans and mediaeval 
and modern nations. Each nation has been 
more or less dependent on the native rock of 
the district for building-stone, and with material 
so ponderable this must ever remain one of the 
conditions of using stone largely for building 
purposes. Where granite is found, and has 
been used, or is used largely, the buildings 
will have a rude and massive grandeur: where 
marble abounds, we may have elegance and 
refined beauty, as in Greece ; where the more 
common, sandstones and limestones form the 
superficial crust of a country, buildings should 
be modified in form and detail to suit such 
materials. The great cost of working granite 
into the most simple forms, will ever prevent 
its use on a large scale by any nation, for do- 
mestic, as also even for municipal or even for 
national masonry. The exquisite marbles of 
Greece could only be used on Greek soil for 
temples and public buildings in general, and the 
variegated marbles of Italy for the beautiful 
mediaeval and renaissance churches, campaniles, 
palaces, and towers. 

It has been said that the stone produced in 
any district, harmonises best with such district ; 
buildings erected of native stone are more in 
keeping with the surrounding landscape. The 
architect, as artist, has better arranged his pa- 

Every building-stone is composed of grains 
and crystals, cemented and bound together by a 
natural process of chemistry. The hardest and 
most enduring rocks are compounds, which 
nature has formed, and which nature's elements 
can disintegrate again to mouldering \yaste. The 
question of destruction is one of time. But 
time may be lengthened or may be shortened by 
many causes. 

When rocks are exposed to the actions of 
sunlight, wet, frost, and wind, the disintegrating 
process sets in with greater or less rapidity, ac- 
cording to the mechanical force, and the che- 
mical character of the ingredients acting and 
acted upon. Some rocks, apparently sound 
when newly quarried, soon decay ; or portions of 
the beds moulder and scale off, leaving the more 
enduring portions comparatively unchanged. In 
olden times, stones, when quarried, may have lain 
longer exposed to the action of the weather, be- 
fore use ; and it must have taken time to remove 
such stone long distances to build our early Nor- 
man castles, churches, &c. ; as, also, our mediaeval 
churches, cathedrals, abbeys, and country man- 
sions. In this time, most of the soft or defective 
beta of stone would have given indications of de- 
cay, and the builders would reject them. Can our 

150 [November 24, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

more rapid means of transport have anything to 
do with the more rapid decay of modern build- 
ings erected from stone obtained out of the 
same quarries which produced stone three and 
even more centuries ago, so little affected by 
weather, that the chisel marks, mouldings, and 
arrises, are as fresh now as they were the 
first day of erection? Men and machinery, 
more powerful than any known in mediaeval 
times, get stone quicker in the quarry ; canals 
and railways remove it more quickly to the site 
of the building; improved scaffolding, staging, 
and machinery, set it more quickly in the build- 
ing ; and then the weather, which ought to have 
been allowed to find out all the soft and defec- 
tive stones in the quarry before the masons 
worked them, now finds them cut and carved 
into rich tracery, and set in the building ready 
to be crumbled rapidly to premature ruin. 

Stones, like timber, to be used in building, 
should be well seasoned by exposure to wea- 
ther. But in these modern railroad times, 
building goes on too quickly for endurance and 
security ; hence, prematurely rotten ships on 
the water, and mouldering buildings on the land. 

Great Britain is at present in tribulation be- 
cause of the rapid decay of stone used at the 
new palace at Westminster. Poor old John 
Bull has been bothered by Commissioners' " Re- 
ports, with Reference to the Selection of Stone 
for Building the new Houses of Parliament," 
having first been wheedled by architects into 
selecting a plan and estimate, the one modest 
in appearance, the other moderate in amount. 
The modest elevation has now been developed 
into most profuse elaboration of carvings in 
thousands of repetitions, and the moderate 
estimate of some seven hundred thousands of 
pounds has been swelled into the vast sum of 
two millions two hundreds of thousands of 
pounds sterling. The results are a vast pile of 
carved stoues, ranks of pinnacles, hundreds of 
weather-cocks (vanes), gilded towers. But all 
prematurely crumbling rapidly, to decay. In the 
midst of this costly disappointment, quack 
after quack rushes to the rescue ; one, to improve 
the sewers ; another, to amend the acoustics ; a 
third, to take charge of the ventilation ; and now 
there is a grand struggle of doctors with patented 
specifics to stop the cause of decay. 

All the business connected with the new pa- 
lace at Westminster appears to have been com- 
menced in error. The site is below extreme 
high-water level of the adjoining river. The 
sewers and drains are therefore blocked, for a 
considerable period of each tide. The style ot 
architecture, or the mode of carrying out such 
style, is a mistake. The stone, chosen with so 
much apparent forethought, searching experi- 
ment, and care, proves to be among the worst 
ever used in the metropolis. 

In discussing the merits of stone for building 
purposes, architectural style is necessarily in- 
volved. _ Florid architecture has upon it, anc 
about it, conditions facilitating rapid decay. 
Such as projecting plinths and buttresses, 
strings and label mouldings, cornices, mullions, 

;ransoms and tracery, canopies, pinnacles, with 
flying buttresses and groined stone ceilings, all 
offering vast surfaces to the action of weather. 
Wind, sunshine, rain, fog, and frost, have full 
alay ; soil and soot settle in sinkings, and on 
iedges; sparrows, pigeons, and jackdaws, add 
sticks and dung to retain wet in all openings 
and recesses, and so help the work of destruc- 

In scientific evidence on the properties and 
qualities of building -stones, the question of 
style in architecture does not seem to have 
received the attention it most undoubtedly 
deserves. A full catalogue of the abbeys, ca- 
thedrals, churches, and other buildings, at home 
and abroad, erected in the florid style of Gothic 
architecture, with the names of the stones used, 
the dates of erection, the amount of enrichment, 
the dates of decay and numbers of repairings, 
might have called attention to the bad conse- 
quences of repeating works on a large scale, 
liable to such contingencies. 

The Commissioners who reported in 1839, have 
enumerated the names of some few buildings in 
England, and have stated dates and conditions as 
to endurance and decay. They actually say in one 
paragraph: "Buildings which are highly decorated 
afford a more severe test of the durability of 
any given stone, all other circumstances being^ 
equal, than the more simple and less decorated 
buildings, inasmuch as the material employed in 
the former class of buildings is worked into 
more disadvantageous forms than in the latter, as 
regards exposure to the effects of the weather." 
If this most important element in the inquiry 
obtained thus much notice from the Com- 
missioners, it evidently never had any weight 
nor consideration with the architect, as enrich- 
ment upon enrichment was added, without, it 
has been said, either the knowledge or the 
sanction of the Commissioners of Her Ma- 
jesty's Works and Buildings, or of the com- 
mittee of the Commons; the money voted, 
from time to time, having been expended in 
elaborate carvings, which have swelled the cost 
of the building to an enormous amount, and 
brought the reputation of the architect to grief. 

The report of 1839 comprises a mass of infor- 
mation which will remain a text -book on this sub- 
ject. The information is most useful, but its full 
value can only be brought out by a proper ap- 
plication of this knowledge in practice. The 
report states that stones most generally used 
for building purposes, are sandstones or lime- 
stones. Sandstones are generally composed of 
quartz or siliceous grains cemented by siliceous, 
argillaceous, calcareous, or other matter. Lime- 
stones are composed of carbonate of lime and 
carbonates of lime and magnesia, either nearly 
pure or mixed with variable proportions of fo- 
reign matter. Varieties of limestones termed 
oolites, are composed of oviform bodies cemented 
by calcareous matter of varied character. There 
are limestones termed "shelly," from being 
chiefly formed of shells, broken or entire, 
cemented by calcareous matter. Micaceous 
sandstones are very frequently laminated ; that 

Chulet l 



lilt up of thin beds, like leaves in a book, 
..Is of mica iu planes parallel to 
. Some limestones, such as the shelly, 

;iiso more or less laminated. There are 
>, and slaty rocks, also used as build- 

Modern architects have committed many 
errors in the use of building-stones by idly or 
blindly following precedent in general design 
and detail. The beautiful temples of Greece 
carved out of the finest material for such 
a purpose Parian marble that the world 
can produce ; the fine grain and uniform 
texture allowing the embodiment of exqui- 
site mouldings. We modems also admire the 
semi-transparent substance and brilliant colour, 
though some of the German architects declare 
1 hut the Greeks only used marble because it 
readily took paint and colour. This may or 
may not be so. A Greek temple in its entire 
state was as perfect a building as ever came 
from the brain and hands of man. Since Stuart's 
and ; me, architects have blundered 

on, vainly trying with coarse-grained sand- 
Muues to imitate the forms and details executed 
in the fine-grained marble of Greece. Greek ar- 
chitecture, or ratber the proportions of Greek 
architecture, as embodied in sandstone and 
stucco in Scotland and in England, is a hideous 
mistake ; it is vulgar, staring, out of place, out 
of proportion, ana out of keeping. 

usance architecture is better fitted to be 
executed iu sandstones and limestones than the 
more subtle and refined Greek forms and de- 
tails. But this is a style full of absurdi- 
ties. Stones are rusticked, distorted, cut, 
carved, and set in every form and way in which 
stone ought not to be used. A rustic does 
not necessarily give strength, but frequently 
weakens the stone by the amount of chamfer, 
or sinking, removed. Look at Whitehall Chapel, 
at St. Paul's, at the War Olfice and Admiralty, 
or at any similar structure Somerset House, for 
instance and the stones will be found split and 
spalched, on bed, face, and joint. There are 
columns with nothing to carry, drip mouldings 
and pediments bcncatu porticoes and even within, 
sham porticoes, and sham jointing. 

Norman architecture, in its simplicity and 
massiveness, is well suited to be executed in 
our sandstones and limestones ; and so-called 

:iic architecture, in its plain and simple 
garb, harmonises perfectly with our climate, 
our habits, and our building-stone. Let our 
architects work in the honest and homely style 
of the best early Gothic architects, and we may 
have a national style of achitecture suited to 
the building-stones of the country and to the 
climate. We must remember that our fore- 
fathers had neither the facilities to obtain the 
best material nor the wealth to pay for working 
it : so that we ought not to take some type of 
buildings, beautiful in plan and outline, but 
rude in material and workmanship, and then, 
with better material and means to procure 
better workmanship, imitate these defects. This 
is only aping the blunder of the Chinese Uutor, 

who, when he made a new coat from an old 
pattern, took care to reproduce the holes, frays, 
and patches, so that the bewildered owner could 
not distinguish the old from new garment. In 
many of our modern churches, we nave exactly 
this type of architecture. Have modern ar- 
chitects no brains ? or, possessing brains, do 
they never use them in their profession ? The 
first and last requisite for an architect is thought. 
The men who designed and built our cathedrals 
and abbeys were among the best masons who ever 
lived in any country or in any age ; but there is 
bad masonry in the best of these buildings. 
The bedding and the jointing are absolute per- 
fection ; but the tilling in of the walls, the com- 
bination of ashlar and of rubble, has been a 
cause of weakness. Stones have also been 
moulded, cut, carved, and exposed to weights 
and to weather which no stone of the kind could 
carry or withstand. 

That which is wrong in principle never can 
be corrected in detail. The Commons' House of 
England have got for the nation's money a 
splendid blunder, a gorgeous girncrack, which 
must, at no distant date, be a picturesque ruin. 
Surface painting and patented dressings of the 
surface may retard for a time, but cannot remove 
the inherent causes of rapid and inevitable ruin. 

The Commissioners of 1839, in their report, 
state that " buildings in this climate are gene- 
rally found to suffer the greatest amount of de- 
composition on their southern, south-western, 
and western fronts, arising, doubtless, from a 
prevalence of winds and driving rains from 
these quarters ; hence it is desirable that stones 
of greater durability should at least be em- 
ployed in fronts with such aspects." This re- 
commendation of the Commissioners might also 
just as well have included a warning as to the 
amount of tracery and enrichments to be used 
" iu fronts with such aspects." The Commis- 
sioners further remark : " Buildings situated 
in the country appear to possess a great advan- 
tage over those in populous and smoky towns, 
owing to lichens, with which they almost inva- 
riably become covered in such situations, and 
which, when firmly established over their entire 
surface, seem to exercise a protective influence 
against the ordinary causes of the decomposi- 
tion of the stones upon which they grow." 

These are curious remarks for eminent scien- 
tific commissioners to make; they savour more 
of artistic feeling, of an eye for colour, than 
of sound, rigid, scientific induction. The 
growth of lichens destroys stone, but does 
not in any way protect it. Lichen-co- 
vered stones would endure longer, without 
such vegetable growth, than with it. Some re- 
marks are made as to the appearance of several 
frusta of columns and other blocks of stone 
quarried in the island of Portland at the time 
01 the erection of St. Paul's Cathedral in London, 
and now covered by a growth of lichens, beneath 
which can be seen even the marks of the chisel 
employed upon them more than a hundred and 
liity years ago. These frusta and blocks are 
only the Old'Parrs of their day. We ought to 

152 [November 24, 1880.] 


[Conducted by 

know how many frusta and blocks quarried at 
the same time were rejected, left behind, and 
have long since mouldered. We see the de- 
cayed and the decaying blocks set in the 
walls of St. Paul's, as also those blocks which 
remain sound ; but in the quarry, the Commis- 
sioners found only those which had endured. It 
is the same class of evidence as that given by 
anti-sanitarians, when they find a few aged people 
in an unhealthy district ; but the sanitarian will 
persist in taking infantile mortality as the best 
test of the unwholesomeness or healthiness of 
any district ; and our architect will do wisely if 
he take a parallel test as to the life of a stone 
when quarried. That quarry which produces 
the most satisfactory test of endurance, or life, 
in stones, after a five years' exposure to the 
elements, will yield the best stones for building 

The Commissioners also say : " Colour is of 
more importance in the selection of a stone for 
a building to be situated in a populous and 
smoky town than for one to be placed in an 
open country, where all edifices usually become 
covered, as above stated, with lichens ; for, 
although in such towns those fronts which are 
not exposed to the prevailing winds and rains 
will soon become blackened, the remainder of 
the building will constantly exhibit a tint de- 
pending upon the natural colour of the material 
employed." The artist feeling, and not the 
scientific knowledge of the Commissioners, has 
again had full play and expression. One would 
think that an architect about to erect any build- 
ing liable to have, at least, two of its fronts 
blackened and disfigured by smoke, dust, and 
soot, need not be so very particular as to the 
uniform colour of the other fronts. 

The Commissioners, as previously mentioned, 
state that they found the stones in highly-deco- 
rated architecture, as a rule, most decayed, be- 
cause the grain of the stone is more exposed 
than in buildings of plainer design. By the pub- 
lished evidence it appears, however, that sand- 
stones and limestones are found equally perfect in 
buildings of Norman and subsequent dates, as also 
that both sandstones and limestones have alike 
mouldered. Examples of magnesian limestone, or 
dolomite in buildings, in an advanced state of 
decay, are given ; as " The churches of York and 
a large portion of the Minster, Howden Church, 
Doncaster Old Church, and others in that part 
of the country, many of which are so much de- 
composed that the mouldings, * carvings, and 
other architectural decorations are often entirely 
effaced." And yet the Commissioners recom- 
mend "the magnesian limestone, or dolomite, 
of Bolsover Moor and its neighbourhood, as the 
most fit and proper material to be employed in 
the proposed new Houses of Parliament." 

There are, it is true, evidence, in certain 
buildings named, of the endurance of magnesian 
limestone, but there is evidence equally strong 
as to the endurance of sandstone ; and there 
are certain remarks stating that "the nearer 
the magnesian limestone approaches to equi- 
valent proportions of carbonate of lime and 

carbonate of magnesia, the more crystalline 
and better they are in every respect." But 
results show that the stone brought to the 
new Houses of Parliament and there used, 
cannot be crystalline because it is not enduring. 
The recommendation of the Commissioners, and 
the results, are not unlike Mr. BUCKSTONE'S non 
sequitur in the farce : " Have you the mark of a 
strawberry on your left arm ?" " No." " Then 
you are my long lost brother." Is the stone 
from the quarries of Bolsover crystalline and 
durable ? No. Then it is the best stone with 
which to build the new Houses of Parliament. 


STRICTLY speaking, we start as it were from 
The Post ; and though this phrase may have a cer- 
tain offensive familiarity and racing flavour, ob- 
taining principally among sporting gentlemen, I 
can only repeat advisedly that we start from The 
Post. Literally, and without quip or evasion, 
we do start from The Post. It is the expedition 
of the day. I do not envy the man who, with a 
tame sneaking regularity, would have his letters 
brought to him at his hotel by the accredited 
functionary. There is a dull sleepy uniformity 
in that old world process. More wholesome far is 
that early plunge into the bath of Roman morn- 
ing air; that brisk going forth with lightest 
heart into this strange atmosphere, which braces, 
and makes the nerves and fibres tingle, and fills 
with the hope and passion of a day newly be- 
gun. We bound along a street, singing making 
for the Post Pontifical. Cheerful, then, the 
shop windows opening their shutter-eyes ; cheer- 
ful the gay French gaillards, all trim and bright, 
stepping out lightly to relieve the guard ; cheer- 
ful the veiled ladies, missal in hand, tripping in 
at church doors for morning mass. There is no 
such elastic medium in the world as a douche of 
Roman morning air. 

The great square court of the huge palace, 
labelled in golden letters " POSTA PONTIHCIE," 
is more like an Exchange. The men who crowd 
together there, and come and go and pass and 
repass, seem on 'Change. The poor baited 
souls at the pigeon-holes, who shuffle letters 
like cards, and shuffle the same pack ten thou- 
sand times in the day, must have a weary 
time of it. What a fine sense of hearing they 
ought to have ! All nations crowding despe- 
rately at the pigeon-holes, and frantically calling 
their own name. Polyglot din of " Tagenblitz !" 
" Greiner !" " Chopoifski !" " Kissemlieff !" 
" Murphy ! I say ! Murphy ?" " De Brimont, 
monsieur !" and from atar off, from the very 
outskirts, in rich stentorian bass, "Smith 
Smith, please ! anything for Smith ?" 

I say again, in an Eternal City I would not 
have my letters tendered to me in the regular 
way, for any consideration. I call this, pleasantly, 
the Morning Postal Surprise. It has all the 
excitement of drawing in the lottery, and none 
of the expense. There is all the gentle titillation 
of a protracted suspense : the struggle for the 
window the hoarse denunciation of self plain- 

Ctarlei Dickeni.] 



tive repetition of the barbaric syllables by mild 
official, and reproduction in a totally different 
slupe the horrid agitation as he shuffles his pack 
of cards his doubts his artful pauses, hishesi- 
tat ion over this name, which reads faintly like the 
hai harir syllables his final disastrous shake of 
his head which tells that all is over, all these 
make up a most pleasing entertainment. It has 
the zest of unflagging novelty, and an Eternal 
flavour. There is no reasonable ground why 
I ^hould look for despatches as every morning 
comes round, or that the established course of 
mails should be done violence to ; but still every 
succeeding morning finds me at the pigeon-hole, 
watching the drawing in the letter lottery. Here, 
too, through another pigeon-hole, does a gentle- 
man hand me out those little airy stamps labelled 
" Franco Bollo Poatalc !" which flourish the 
tiara and cross keys so magnificently. The 
postage to England being exactly twenty-two 
halfpennies, it becomes a matter of much nicety 
to find accommodation (without prejudice to 
the direction) for all the parti-coloured insignia 
wliich are presented to me; and having found 
sittings for two yellow emblems, at three half- 
pennies each, in the centre under the direction, 
and for two pink at five halfpennies each, in the 
extreme right-hand corner, and for two green at 
one halfpenny each in left central corner, I am 
seriously put to it, for accommodation for two 
more halfpennies as yet undisposed of. They 
come in, however, at a vacant corner ; and the 
effect of the whole, taken as a specimen of amateur 
bill-sticking, is decidedly pleasing. I gather, 
too, little traits of national manners highly in- 
structive. One wet morning, when the ram is 
pattering down, a vehicle drives up, and an 
excited English gentleman, springing from it 
hastily, misses his footing on the slippery pave- 
ment and recovers himself with difficulty. Un- 
consciously he has jostled two Romans, and the 
shock has nurled one with violence to the earth ; 
he falls prone, and bites not the dust, but mud 
and liquid puddle. The Roman rises, fearfully 
bemudded, but seems cowed and scared; and 
takes this scurvy treatment, unatoned for by 
regret or apology, with no other protest than 
a scowl. 

Breakfast ? Ah, surely ! and the strain of 
business being now off the mind, it may reason- 
ably relax. In this matter we are pure gipsies, 
highly irregular, and vagabondise disreputably 
from caffe to caffe. To-day I enter the Gaffe 
Nuovo, or New Coffee House : so called from 
its being the oldest, dingiest, and saddest 
tabernacle in the city. It is a Corso palace, of 
forty long windows, retired from business, 
broken down utterly, and forced by hard times 
to turn itself to these baser uses. It is posi- 
tively gaol-like with its black front and cell 
windows ; and as I sit in its long chilly hall, with 
the dull frescoes overhead faded out of all shape 
and colour, and the cracked marble pavement 
under the feet ; and as I note the dust and cob- 
-. and the dirt an inch thick, and the general 
vault -like llavour of the place, I feel myself grow- 
ing damp and mouldy too. When I deem myself 

too cheerfuhnerhaps verging on the boisterous, I 
i uttT the Caffe Newgate, sit awhile thoughtfully, 
and issue forth again, correctly toned down to a 
happy cheerlessness. 1 am grateful that there 
is such an establishment in the city. 

For a house in brilliant Spanish Place, I have 
a \\arm sympathy, reaching almost to affection, 
on the score of a chocolate of such rich con- 
sistence that I distinctly recal my apostle's 
spoon standing up in it stiff and straight. But 
I must confess it is the Greek coffee-house that 
I principally affect, chiefly on account of the 
delightful eccentricity of manners which there 
prevails. All the bearded pards of an Eternal 
City flock hither. There, though room is scant 
and fittings are barren, I see every Eternal artist 
sculptor, painter, actor, and singer German, 
French, and English crowd in for his first 
meal. The study of this odd company, their 
ways, their dress, their gutturals, and general 
queernesses, are worth a " wilderness of mon- 
keys." The aboriginal primitiveness of the 
place is comforting ; and I love to see the 
Greek proprietor at his counter and furnaces, com- 
pounding the drinks. The orders are sung aloud 
in plain chant. As I enter, the waiter heralds 
my coming from afar off, intoning loudly, " Caffe 
latte ! caffe latte !" for my features, and the be- 
verage I habitually infuse, are grown familiar to 
him. Thereupon the Greek at counter begins 
compounding, with a deftness and mystery lam 
never weary of admiring. He takes a tumbler, 
and with one motion half fills it with sugar, 
and with another fits into it a broad funnel. 
A kind of devil comes rushing in from the 
furnace all hot and fiery with milk and 
coffee all hot and fiery also and those two 
elements are poured in, bubbling, through the 
funnel. Ready now, waiter, with that tiny 
tray, which you shall crowd artfully with 
the components of the banquet : steaming 
tumbler in corner ; two little twisted rolls, 
one of sour, one of sweet bread, to suit the 
palate ; a pat of rich butter from the Bor- 
ghese farms ; three pasticcie, or chocolate cakes, 
very toothsome as a finish ; a miniature napkin, 
spotless as, and no bigger than an infant's bib, 
for all these dainties is accommodation found on 
the miniature tray. When reckoning comes, the 
attendant spirit begins plain chant again, sing- 
ing aloud, arithmetically, and checking off on 
his fingers, "Caffe latte!" (first finger), "colla 
pane!" (second), "e burra !" (third), "e tre 
pasticcie !" (fourth). Some spendthrifts of the 

Elace occasionally add a farthing; for " service," 
ut such liberality is considered, on the whole, 
in bad taste. T, who magnificently lay down 
the humble remuneration of two baiocchi, am 
plainly considered to be demoralising the attend- 
ance, and introducing ruinous tastes. 

After this meal, the world is all before us. 
The old rusted lions that have been roaring in 
their own soft touching fashion for centuries 
back ; the churches, temples, pillars, statues, 
pictures of the great art menagerie, are wooing 
irresistibly. Privy council is convoked in the 
scarlet chamber, claims are submitted, urged, re- 

154 [November 4, i860.] 


[Conducted by 

jected, division is called for and noisily carried. 
Kound the corner comes clattering the ready 
barouche the sun shines out brightly close 
the door and steps with the crack of a rifle 
and away ! But whitherward ? The fashionable 
poet of this Eternal City sings of his pet days, 
which he would note with a white mark. But 
how distinguish where all are white? Shall I 
take that fair sunshiny morning when the new- 
ness was on all things, and everything was a 
surprise when we rolled away through the 
fresh and balmy Roman air and the sunlight, 
making for the famous church of Santa Maria 
Maggiore ? What a quaint odd effect, as we 
coast by those low-lying grounds, hedged in with 
every-day houses, where are the rusty arches and 
trios of pillars strewn up and down in a lonely 
fashion, to have pointed out to you carelessly 
with the driver's whip three or four stories of 
copper-coloured arcades so familiar as the Co- 
liseum. Stop, coachman ! the famous building 
to be dismissed thus lightly, where the martyrs 

But it is a good mile away out of the road, 

signer, and, besides, is mapped out for another 
day. It seems to me a fairy church, and I look 
at it with a delight almost childish. We have to 
do with the wildernesses of pillars, and the flat 
roof laid on them all a sheet of dull Eastern 
gold, and the quaint crusted mosaics like a 
crystallised rockery, and the cooling breezes that 
blow acceptably among the marble trees. 

Or it may be that we are standing in that 
mall of the Capitol where is the most mourn- 
ful statue in the world, the Dying Gladiator. 
The Eternal City has many caskets, and many 
precious things in every casket, and yet I 
know not if this poor drooping figure, all 
browned and discoloured, and wrung with an 
unutterable suffering, be not the most unique 
and touching of all its treasures. I know not 
how much of this sad effect must be placed to 
the account of the tawny colouring, and to the 
absence of the smug spotlessness and dainty 
cleanliness of newer marble. That strange 
tone lends a sort of warmth, suggests life and 
flesh and blood, and pleads powerfully for Mr. 
Gibson's colour creed. 

Or else, we skim down the long Vatican gal- 
leries, where there is crowded a whole popula- 
tion of men, and women, and animals in stone. 
I should not like to be alone with such company 
towards the small hours. I stand in especial 
awe of those grim philosophers in the marble 
togas. What wicked-looking fellows to meet 
trooping it along, like Don Giovanni Commenda- 
tori ! But, oh, for Socrates, wisest of men, 
to have been this snub-nosed, negro-lipped, de- 
graded-looking thing! very swinish, precisely 
the face that would rob a church rather a 
temple of his time. The Greeks must surely 
have been tired, not of hearing him called Just, 
but of those revolting lineaments which, be- 
sides, suggest to me strongly the cheeks of 
Edmund Gibbon, author of the Decline and 
Tall of this very city. The emperors are de- 
lightful. We look for a row of heads on the 
old hackneyed classical lines the frown, the 

straight nose, the regular mouth, and the laurel 
wreath so irritating to the tender skin. Instead, 
a row of most comically modern visages, of or- 
dinary unclassical street faces, such as, if we 
passed to the irreverence of decorating with 
hats and collars Byronic, we would encounter 
at a hundred crossings betwixt Oxford-street 
and Temple -bar. Trajan has positively the 
roguish leer of a Trench old gentleman sitting 
in the Palais Hoyal garden, and looking after 
the passing Bonnes. Some, traditionally re- 
garded as The Monsters, turn out surprisingly 
gentlemanlike and of refined manners, whom 
you would be rather pleased to see taking your 
wife down to dinner. 

Or shall we present ourselves at that daily 
levee which the famous Apollo, the " far-dart- 
ing," holds in his little temple all to himself? 
Is it heresy to hint that he is a little too dan- 
dified, too much of the fashionable exquisite a 
statue of the Beau Monde ? I can fancy him the 
Duca di Belvedera, with a soft lisp, and giving 
you that disengaged finger ; as compared with 
the poor brown statue crushed down and just 
giving up the ghost, it is as Saint James to 
Saint Giles. I can forgive that profane party of 
three, bursting with irreverent laughter in the 
sacred presence ; and I can have indulgence for 
the black-haired sparkling English lady who is 
declaiming (mock heroically) out of her scarlet 
manual the appropriate versicles selected there. 
There is an Eternal Murray as well as an Eternal 
City. In another little temple of his own, Lao- 
coon struggles ineffectually with his snakes, and 
the marble boxers of Canova square at each 
other fiercely, for a stone champion's belt. 

A dip again into the balmy Roman air, and 
we are in the brighter streets. As the black 
ball ascends slowly from the high eerie where 
the famous Jesuit Secchi sits and hunts down 
planets, the boom of the Freuch cannon is borne 
to us, and lets the city know it is noon. And 
that token of dipping brings to ray mind that, 
at the last comer, I have been rubbing my eyes 
and putting it to myself seriously, was I in a 
dream ? For I have seen, actually seen and felt, 
a familiar sponge bath, the Englishman's sponge 
bath, set out for sale ! I have heard of an Eng- 
lish gentleman taking one of these engines with 
him over the whole country. By some, it was 
taken for a musical instrument of the gong 
order : by others, to be an enlarged tea-tray i 

Into bright Conduit-street again, or "Veer 
Kondotty," which reads like Dutch, but is no 
more than the broad British ring for " Via de 
Condotti." The witching hour of lunch draws 
on, and it is full time to pass reverently into 
the tabernacle of the " traitor" Spillman 
"traiteur" he chooses to call himself. Un- 
approachable artist, and immortal chef ! It is 
held currently, I believe, that he is to the full 
as much one of the glories of an Eternal City as 
the Forum, Baths of Titus, Saint Peter's, or other 
monument. The " traitor" affects the solid, the 
substantial, and goes straight home to British 
hearts. It is rumoured that the traitor's balance 
(pecuniary, not physical) is something to make 



you gtisp ; ami yet his sir < ' ry into the 

il ( 'ity in "the nimble of a chaise, lie was 
pic courier, and begut the traitor. Very 
seducing are his counters, strewn with all 
shapes of Italian confectionary, confounding by 
thru- variety. Fatal those sweets to the enjoy- 
ment of the greater banquet now not very re- 
mote : and yet how seducing ! 

Hark to the music swelling down old Veer 
Condotty, drawing yet near and nearer! Run- 
ning to the door, pate in hand, we look out 
at the bright red-limbed little Frenchmen trip- 
ping by in the march they so love. How very 
clean they are, and how their arms glitter, and 
I heir cheerful colouring radiates! The fringe 
of ragamuffin, or St. Giles's element, which by 
the luw of bauds, unfailing in every clime and 
capital, hangs ou the flanks of these musical 
warriors, is here present in full ilavour and 

Now we go round curiosity shops, and hunt 
out curious pictures, and amber-coloured goblets 
of Venetian glass, and quaint cinque cento 
cabinets, and gold inlaid knives with which 
noble families made their pens three centuries 
ago, and coins and medals and gems and 
carvings, and have a chatter, besides, with the 
old curiosity man himself, who is learned in his 
craft, and not too greedy for pelf. Or there is 
that lecture by the erudite English consul, the 
antiquarian Newton, who has been delving at 
llalicarnassiis, anil lighted on the Patagouiau 
temple described by Herodotus, and has sent 
home treasures and marbles more exquisite in 
their delineation of the human figure than those 
called Elgin. He waits his company now, in 
the Barberiui Palace, where an accomplished 
American gentleman has gathered all his friends, 
as it might be to a soiree. Or it may be that 
we are expected at the Collegio llomauo, where 
a skilful Jesuit, the most able numismatist of his 
age, will take us over the famed Etruscan mu- 
seum, and illustrate it with a running commen- 
tary ; or will introduce us to the observatory of 
Padre Secclii ; or where another skilful Jesuit is 
restoring a gigantic bit of Pumpcian mosaic pave- 
ment with most marvellous cunning. Or it may 
be that we have to journey out far upon the 
Appiun Way, and have to descend into tombs 
gloomier than those of all the Capulets; but 
led by some pundit learned iu the lore of 
, \\ !u has all the sceuery and accesso- 
ries at his iiiiijora' cuds. 

But at times, when the flood-gates of Heaven 
arc burst open, and the ruins descend with u fierce 
shock unequalled in any other city, we are fast 
imprisoned in the scarlet chambers of our 
hostelry, from the windows of whose apartments 
we see the wretched wayfarers flying for their 
. and for shelter, to the generous Spill- 
man's. And when it is past noon, and the deluge 
only increases, a rickety covered ark clatters to 
the door, sent for iu desperation ; and having 
looked out a profitable church in rubicund & 

:id a vein as yet umvorked, we go forth into 

-torm. There are immortal imperishable 

ked church, rubicund Mur- 

ray tells us, painted by Domenicliino, and another 
gentleman whose name I cannot recal, in a gene- 
rous rivalry. Never to be forgotten are the waste 
of the Forum, the Arches of Constantino and com- 
pany, as seen from the ark window, dripping and 
soaking under the universal shower-batn. Cheer- 
less and dispiriting are the old church and con- 
vent where the painters painted " in a generous 
rivalry," and on whose steps the rain patters 
and patters again. Not to be forgotten are 
the cold yellow cloisters, and the lone open 
square where the rain came down drip, drip, 
as into a domestic pond, while the shivering sa- 
cristan was fetched out with his keys, to show the 
paintings, done " in a generous rivalry." Such 
poor washed-out things, faded, indistinct, colour- 
less, as if the drip outside had got to them also, 
and had been washing them down for years ! 1 
cannot recal so dismal an exhibition of art. 


WHEN last I saw her, all cold and white, 

On her maiden bed extended, 
It seemed to me that with the light 

Of her life my own was ended. 

It seemed to me that I could not bear 

The burden of life without her ; 
To see the sunshine, to feel the air 

That could never more play about her 

Lovingly play round her lovely head, 

Giving fond and playful kisse, 
Making the rose on her cheek more red, 

Stirring her sun-gilt tresses. 

I felt as though I could naver bear 

The ceaseless pain and pressure 
Of endless days, when she might not share 

Oue sorrow of mine, or pleasure. 

Stark and pallid and cold she lay, 
Not she the soul-warmed woman- 

But the dreadful frigid image of clny 
That with her had nothing in common. 

Among the flowers about the bier 

I noted a Urge-eyed blossom, 
Tliiit looked at me through a dewy tear 

As it lay on her lifeless bosom. 

A large white daisy. I kissed its face, 

In iier cold dead hand I laid it, 
And I bid it nevermore leave that place, 

Though the breath of the gr-iva should fade it. 

I fancied that she would feel it there, 

And that when she was in heaven, 
She would send me a sign that the bond which hero 

So bound us should not be riven. 

Perhaps a childish and wild belief; 

But when in some hopeless sorrow- 
That rejects all thought of a common relief, 

The heart is fain to borrow 

From the realms of fancy some hope, some dream, 

It may be some superstition, 
That, however childish or wild, will seem 

Like a real Heaven-sent vision. 

156 [November 24, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

And so with me. When the friendly night 
O'er my sleepless pillow lingers, 

Yon star, I think, is the daisy white 
I placed in her lifeless fingers. 


MATRIMONY is either the most happy or the 
most wretched condition of human life. It is 
therefore not by any to be unadvisedly and 
lightly enterprised. But civilised nations are 
not quite agreed as to the degree of facility 
which ought to be permitted of marrying in 
haste and repenting at leisure ; while some allow 
this most solemn engagement to be contracted 
with the utmost ease, others surround it with so 
many formalities and checks, that there are 
cases in which it is difficult to get married at all. 
The golden mean between these two extremes 
is most desirable for a people to arrive at, and 
is well worthy of all the attention that the phi- 
losopher and the legislator can bestow upon it. 
We therefore open with more than common in- 
terest a book by M. Auguste Carlier, in which 
he compares marriage in the United States with 
that which is lawful in England and in France. 

The last of these three countries has adopted 
the plan of fencing in marriage with many im- 
pediments. France is as exclusive and pro- 
tectionist in her matrimonial as in her com- 
mercial intercourse. In matters connubial, she 
S' 2lds not the slightest international reciprocity, 
ost countries allow a marriage contracted be- 
yond their own limits, to be valid at home, pro- 
vided all the legal forms of the country in which 
the marriage takes place have been complied 
with. If an Englishman marry a Russian 
lady, in Russia, and according to Russian law, 
that marriage is good in England ; but if a 
Frenchman marry an English girl, in England, 
and according to English law, that union may be 
pronounced null and void in France, unless 
every requirement of French law has been 

Take a case, which is not imaginary in its 
leading points. The Smiths have made money 
and retired from business. They spend a winter 
in Paris, and give handsome entertainments to 
mixed assemblies of French and English. Mrs. 
Smith is an excellent person, with no doubt 
about her own talent for managing, and 
a great idea of what money will do. Miss 
Smith is charming and two-and-twenty ; one of 
her charms is three hundred a year, left by a 
bachelor uncle, of which she is in full enjoy- 
ment. Her brother brings to the house, the 
only son of the Comte de Quelquechose, who is 
seriously smitten. The De Quelquechoses would 
be poor in England, but are rich in France. 
Instead of being in debt, they put by a trifle 
every year. Their tastes and manners are simple 
and unpretending ; but they are noble, and be- 
lieve themselves at heart formed of different 
material from plebeian folk. They have in 
Burgundy a dilapidated farm-house* which their 
neighbours call " the chateau," surrounded with 
vineyards; they have a dingy suite of apart- 

ments in Paris. Madame de Quelquechose farms 
a portion of her own estate, transacts all busi- 
ness, and does and is everything. Her son talks 
to her about the Smiths ; she consents to re- 
ceive a visit from Mrs. Smith. 

Mrs. Smith calls too early, much too splen- 
didly attired ; and, catching Madame de Quel- 
quechose in a charwoman's dress, doing house- 
maid's work, has the weakness to display 
patronising airs. Still, madame returns the call, 
is pleased with the daughter, and might have 
approved of her in the end, if she did not every 
day detest the mother more and more. She 
tells her son the alliance will not suit her, and 
dismisses the matter from her thoughts. Mrs. 
Smith, determined not to be beaten, allows the 
young man's intimacy with her daughter to in- 
crease. When madame hears of this, she 
quietly observes, that young men are naturally 
fond of amusement ; she knows the game is in 
her own hands. 

The courtship has arrived at the marrying 
point, but the lover is sure it is of no use to 
ask his parents' consent. He is four-and- 
twenty. Clever Mrs. Smith thinks there is 
wisdom in the scheme of their getting married 
in England, as they cannot get married in France. 
Miss Smith goes to stay a month with an aunt 
in London. Young Monsieur de Quelquechose 
follows, and resides in the same parish for the 
term prescribed by law. There is nothing clan- 
destine in the business. When the time arrives, 
they are married, by banns, as a further precau- 
tion, lest a license should be cavilled at. The 
bride is given away by her brother. It is a 
quiet wedding, not a runaway match. 

The bridegroom announces his marriage to 
his parents, in respectful terms, as an accom- 
plished fact, in which he hopes they will ac- 
quiesce though he does not exactly say so 
now they cannot help it. He returns with his 
bride to France, and presents her to society, as 
Madame de Quelquechose. But his parents 
refuse to receive or acknowledge her. They 
do more; they institute law proceedings, on 
the ground that the marriage is invalid in 
the absence of their consent and the fulfilment 
of every detail of the French marriage law. 
They gain their cause. The court pronounces 
the English marriage certificate to be waste 
paper. Miss Smith is compelled to drop the name 
and title of De Quelquechose and to resume 
her own ; henceforth slie can live with monsieur 
as his mistress merely, and not as his wife ; and 
children so born are illegitimate in France. Miss 
Smith has fallen into a most cruel position ; she 
is neither bond nor free. In France, she is a 
single woman ; in England, she is a lawful wife. 
She is the widow of a living husband. She is 
not married at all in France ; and yet, were she 
to marry in England, she would commit bigamy. 
Such is the control which French parents are 
able to exercise over their children's mar- 
riages. Amongst the lower orders of society es- 
pecially, the power of withholding consent is 
occasionally made the means of extorting con- 
ditions favourable to the parents' selfish inte- 


[Noromtxrr It, ISM. ] 157 

rests. But let every English person about to 
v a French person carefully study the Code 
Kapole'on beforehand, under the tutorship of 
au intelligent avocat, and have the marriage 
<< iTiiiunics, if possible, performed within the 
limits of the French territory. 

With the superior classes in France, paternal 
authority remains almost what it was in patri- 
archal and in feudal times. The mother scarcely 
allows the daughter out of her sight ; the girl, 
quently, is ignorant of worldly matters, 
ami has formed no habit of judging for her- 
self, which will serve to guide her after 
marriage. She sees with mamma's eyes, 
and hears with mamma's ears only, unless, 
indeed, mamma allows her to be guided also 
by a spiritual director. The mother feels the 
burden of this responsibility, and hastens to 
be rid of it by an early marriage, in which the 
child is expected simplv to acquiesce in the 
parents' choice. We English, and also our 
American cousins, severely criticise the little 
free will allowed to French girls in a matter of 
such immense importance, holding that it affords 
but, a slight prospect of future happiness. 

The code requires that the bridegroom 
should be at least eighteen, and the bride 
fifteen years of age. It exacts the consent 
not only of the two parties most interested, but 
also of their fathers and mothers, and, failing 
them, of their grandfathers and grandmothers, 
and even of a family council, if no elder rela- 
tions exist. In the case of any of the seniors 
re-fusing their sanction, in order to effect the 
celebration of the marriage, in the first place, 
the man must be twenty-five and the woman 
twenty-one years of age ; secondly, the party to 
whom consent to marry is refused must insti- 
tute respectful proceedings (des actes respec- 
tueux) addressed to the non-consenting father, 
mother, or senior relation ; in short, the child 
must go to law with the parent to compel him 
or her to show cause why consent shoula not be 
given. But such " respectful proceedings " are 
undertaken most unwillingly, and we cannot help 
honouring the unwillingness. They are rarely 
thought of, and still more rarely carried into 
practice. They involve considerable delays, 
which ^ive time either for the projected mar- 
riage to be relinquished, or for the parent to 
at the last moment, to avoid being actually 
compelled to consent. In the uncommon case 
the parental signature is withheld until 
extorted by application of the pressure of law, 
the ill blood so generated is probably greater 
than that arising from the majority of our elope- 
ments. But, in the way in which the system 
generally and really works, the parent has as 
good as a complete veto on his children's mar- 

Consent being given, the marriage is preceded 
by the publication of banns at the mayoralties 
belonging to the residences of the contracting; 
parties; it must be celebrated by the mayor 01 
one of these residences, in the public mayoralty, 
in the presence of four wit nesses. The marriage 
deed is signed by the parties, the witnesses, and 

the mayor, and is kept in duplicate. This is 
the civil marriage, whicli is indispensable by 
law. The religious ceremonies wliich may be 
dispensed with, if the parties think fit are cele- 
brated afterwards, whether Protestant or Roman 
Catholic, according to the creed of the bride and 
bridegroom. A few couples are married civilly 
only ; if the gentleman thinks lightly of the be- 
nediction of the Romish priest his repugnance 
being further increased by the condition of his 
making auricular confession to the said priest 
before it is granted the lady's friends will 
rarely allow the religious marriage (a sacrament) 
to be omitted. Of course the priesthood do all 
in their power to discourage unblessed unions 
by throwing an indirect stigma on the offspring, 
such as by refusing to allow the church bell to 
ring at the baptism of children whose parents 
have not been married at church but at the 
mayoralty only. 

In accordance with the doctrine of the state 
religion, the law of France declares marriage 
to be indissoluble. The only course open 
to married couples who find it impossible 
to live together, is separation, in cases laid 
down by law. The number of separations is a 
sort of touchstone of the wisdom of the choice 
which husbands and wives have made, and of 
the degree of harmony existing between them. 
It is to be regretted that, in France, separations 
are augmenting in a proportion which is far 
from following the slow increase of the popula- 
tion. Official statistics inform us that the num- 
ber of demands for separation, which from 1851 
to 1855 averaged from 1000 to 1100 annually, 
rose to 1727 in 1857, and to 1977 in 1858. Of 
these demands, 1777 were made by wives, and 
200 only by husbands. It is not pretended that 
statistics will tell us all about unhappy mar- 
riages. In France, as in other countries, there 
are separations by mutual consent, which avoid 
the public scandal of law proceedings ; and 
there are the still deeper sorrows which hide 
themselves from every eye, assuming the out- 
ward appearance of content, avoiding even a se- 
paration by mutual consent, for the interest and 
reputation of a rising family. , 

A married Frenchwoman is in every respect 
her husband's equal; he is not her lord and 
master, but her friend. "Mon ami," is the 
title by which she addresses him. The law may 
require her to love him, to honour him by vir- 
tuous conduct, but not to obey him. lie has 
indeed a certain superiority in the management 
of their common interests, but her rights are 
not the more effaced for that ; in certain cases 
her concurrence is indispensable, and she has a 
deliberative voice with an absolute veto. She 
remains the mistress of the whole of her fortune, 
by making a reservation respecting her personal 
property. The husband and wife are two part- 
ners who club their capital for mutual advan- 
tage, but who keep it distinct in their accounts, 
to facilitate any partial or complete dissolution. 
She can make her will, and leave her husband 
without a sou of hers ; if she die intestate, her 
property, in some cases, slips completely through 

15S [November 24, 


[Conducted by 

his fingers. She must will it to him, for him to 
be safe and sure. The profits arising from the 
industry of the husband and the wife, and the 
savings they may be able to put by, form a com- 
mon stock, to the half of which the wife is en- 
titled. The law places such confidence in her, 
that, in the event of her widowhood, she, by 
right, is the guardian of her children. The 
whole situation is completely superior to that 
of woman in England, and even in America. 
Between brothers and sisters there exists a per- 
fect equality as to their rights of inheritance 
from their father and mother. If the parents 
are inclined to disturb this equality, or to favour 
a third person to the prejudice of their children, 
the law fixes limits to the power of bequeathing. 
A Frenchman cannot cut off an offending son 
or daughter with a shilling, nor can he impo- 
verish his neglected family by leaving large sums 
to charitable institutions. 

But the prerogatives of the Frenchwoman 
are not confined to her family and social pri- 
vileges ; she may enter the same spheres of 
activity as her husband ; the career of business 
and manufactures is open to her ; and she has 
proved under every circumstance that she is 
. equally capable with her male companion. Com- 
pare this condition with that of the women of 
ancient Rome, who were kept in a perpetual 
minority, on account of their levity of cha- 
racter. In England, and also in America, wo- 
men are treated perhaps too much after the Ro- 
man fashion, so entirely are they kept in the 
background, as far as business is concerned. 

In England, we have a foretaste of marriage 
as practised in the United States, in respect 
to the great liberty allowed to girls to select 
the object of their choice. Nevertheless, there 
are very marked differences ; one of the first 
points which is striking in England, is the 
paternal authority which usually reigns predomi- 
nant in family affairs. Still, the English girl is 
allowed to make her choice uncontrolled, al- 
though generally under the mother's eye, who 
does not interfere with her daughter's growing 
affection, unless grave objections present them- 
selves. In a great commercial and manufactur- 
ing country, where a man by industry and in- 
telligence may arrive at a certain position of 
fortune, the young lady's dowry is less an object 
than her personal qualities and the considera- 
tion enjoyed by her family; unlike France, 
where a great number of functionaries and 
military men, with fixed and scanty emolu- 
ments, are too often tempted by the exigencies 
of their position to yield to pecuniary considera- 

America is the land of liberty for whites. 
American girls enjoy greater freedom than Eng- 
lish; they are independence itself. But it is 
fair to allow that this liberty and independence 
are not exposed to the same inconveniences 
there as elsewhere ; for, in America, woman is 
placed under the shield of public opinion. How- 
ever young and inexperienced she may be, she 
can travel alone throughout the United States. 
In the United States, according to the old 

Common Law of England, the minimum of age 
for marriage is fourteen years for men, and twelve 
for women : after which, young people may 
dispense with the consent of father, mother, 
or guardian. Moreover, the Common Law 
enacts neither the publication of banns, nor 
witnesses, not even the signature of the parties, 
and the marriage may be celebrated by a justice 
of the peace or a minister of religion, no matter 
where resident, even beyond the circumspection 
of the residence of the bride and bridegroom, at 
any hour and place whatever. 

In the United States, as in England, it 
suffices that cohabitation should have taken 
place to render judges very indulgent, and 
to validate an imperfect marriage. This pro- 
bably was the reason which induced the Court 
of Queen's Bench, in 1855, -to decide that a 
Protestant minister might himself celebrate his 
own marriage ceremony, asking himself the re- 
quired questions, and then returning his own 
answers. The example has not found many 
imitators. Accomplished facts would have no 
influence whatever on the decision of a French 
judge respecting a doubtful marriage. Circum- 
stances sometimes unite to give an extraordinary 
aspect to certain unions. Thus, it is related 
that, in the State of Maine, the driver of a 
railway train too busy, no doubt, to be able to 
devote a whole day to his wedding made his 
bride and a minister start in one of the carriages, 
and had the ceremony performed while the train 
was running. 

A still more original occurrence is the mar- 
riage of a young Virginian couple, in 1855, 
who had to cross a river to reach the minister 
who was to unite them. But a flood had con- 
verted the river into a torrent ; it was neither 
fordable nor ferryable ; and they could not ex- 
pect that, to crown their happiness, the minister 
would brave Leander's fate. They, therefore, 
shouted to the people on the opposite bank, ex- 
plaining what they wanted. The pastor appeared : 
they folded the paper containing the necessary 
authorisation, tied it to a stone, and threw it to 
the minister, who, after reading it and exchang- 
ing the usual questions and answers, married 
the adventurous couple across the river accord- 
ing to the rites of the Church. These marriages, 
singular as they appear in form, are not the 
less in earnest for that, and are followed by every 
civil consequence required. 

Other eccentric weddings, not in earnest, are 
a serious blow to the respect due to matrimony, 
and to the law which sanctions it. Among 
other follies, certain young Americans have 
amused themselves by contracting mock mar- 
riages, or rather by getting married in joke. If 
two persons, with no serious intention of marry- 
ing, nevertheless go through all the formalities 
thereof, by way of pastime, they arc well and 
effectually married by a legal bond. A case of 
the kind occurred in Pennsylvania, in 1857. 
Miss J. met Mr. B. at a partly; they ex- 
changed pleasantries on the subject of marriage ; 
Mr. B. asked Miss J.'s hand, which was given. 
To continue the joke, they went to the house of 



[Nwnbr2i,iattO 159 


a neighbouring minister, where the conjugal 
knot was tied. After the young lady had reco- 
vered her senses a little, she did not choose to 
he simulation of matrimony further. But 
tin' la-id. ijroom took up the matter in a serious 
li-hi. The girl was obliged to petition for a 
i!i . are, as the only means of escaping the legal 
(ucnccs of her thoughtless engagement. 
Another similar fact is quoted ; ana in both 
cases the divorce was pronounced. 

It is even extraordinary that like occurrences 
are not more frequent; for, according to the 
doctrine adopted by different courts of law, a 
matrimonial engagement may be inferred from 
circumstances only. "It is not necessary," 
said a judge of the State of Now York to a 
jury, " that a promise of marriage should be 
made in express terms ; frequent visits, conver- 
sation in whispers, expressions of attachment, 
presents oflereu, walks and drives taken toge- 
ther, are so many circumstances which may DC 
insisted upon, in proof of the existence of an en- 
gagement to marry. And if these indications 
have sufficient probability to convince the 
judges, the law requires nothing further, to esta- 
blish the bond." 

So arbitrary a power of interpretation iu so 
grave a matter has opened the door to the most 
shameful speculation. Marriageable girls and 
widows, casting off the reserve which is proper 
to their sex, hunt after rich men, especially men 
in the decline of life, and endeavour to attract 
them by all sorts of artifices, and to spread the 
report iu consequence of familiarities in which 
they take the first step that a wedding is in 
preparation. "When they think they have accu- 
mulated proofs enough to make out a strong pre- 
sumptive case, they exact either marriage or 
heavy damages. Sometimes, to escape unde- 
served scandal, the gentleman yields to this 
Machiavellian pressure, and sacrifices to a quiet 
life, a sum which mostly runs up to a tolerably 
high figure. If ho resist, he is dragged in no 
time into court. 

In such questions, the jury is easily im- 
pressed by the voice and manner of the wo- 
man who presents herself in the guise of a 
victim ; and verdicts have been given so mon- 
strously exaggerated, that they seem rather the 
outbreaks of anger than judicial decisions. 
Recently, a case of this kind occurred in the 
State of Missouri ; the jury, yielding to the ex- 
citement of the moment, condemned a wealthy 
man, against whom there was nothing but 
simply presumptive evidence, to pay 20.000/. 
damages to a woman who kept a boarding-house 
at St. Louis. The gentleman who had fallen 
into the snare did uot submit to the verdict ; 
he appealed ; and the judges, in cooler blood and 
better edified respecting the lady's previous his- 
tory, annulled the sentence, and discharged the 
idant from all further pursuit. It was 
time to give a lesson to this kind of women; 
for actious for breach of promise of marriage 
had become common throughout the United 
Stati half-dozen heavy condemnations 

appear to have excited a number of women to 

bring their actions, right and left. It had be- 
come dangerous for wealthy men to behave po- 
litely to unmarried women. The result of the 
Missouri appeal allowed them to breathe a little 
more freely. 

Certainly, American legislation is strange! 
If the smallest scrap of land lias to be sold, 
there must be a deed signed and scaled in the 
presence of witnesses, and properly registered. 
In the case of a will, additional guarantees are 
required ; but in the gravest act of human life, 
simple probabilities suffice to prove an engage- 
ment. As if marriage did not involve more im- 
portant consequences to a man's welfare, than 
a sale of land or even a will ! 

One circumstance which gives a great impulse 
to hasty and impromptu marriages, is the rapid 
development of the new States of the Union, 
into which a great number of adventurers rush, 
with the certainty of obtaining opulence, or at 
least a very easy position. At lirst they are 
colonies of men only, whose increasing wealth 
enables them to indulge in the comforts of a 
family. To these matrimonial markets many 
girls of some education resort, urged by ambition 
and the love of adventure, to risk the chances of 
a western alliance. Articles appear in news- 
papers, begging young women to come, offering 
them the liberty of a choice of husbands, and 
promising them liberal and certain settlements. 
The scarcity of women is continually felt at in- 
tervals in the regions of the west. In May, 
1857, the Iowa Reporter made an energetic 
appeal to the ladies, entreating women of all 
nations to travel in that direction. It stated 
that, according to the census of June, 1856, 
there were in Iowa 33,64.0 more men than wo- 
men, and that, at the time of writing, they were 
short of 60,000 women to establish an equal 
balance of the sexes. Although such a state of 
things is only transitory, still, wonaen,of whatever 
condition, who arrive during periods of bridal 
scarcity, arc sure to be welcomed and caught up 

In the older states, American young ladies 
exhibit a rather paradoxical conjugal tendency. 
Their great ambition is to marry a man of title ; 
it is a weakness which has gained all classes, 
and to which they sacrifice everything. Any 
European, however slightly he may be recom- 
mended, if he be the bearer even of a doubtful 
title of nobility, by going to the United States 
is sure of making a wealthy match, if he only 
have patience to bide Ms time. There are cer- 
tainly men who, by their personal qualities, adorn 
the title they have received from their ancestors, 
and nothing can be more praiseworthy than to 
seek their alliance ; but that is not generally 
what is uppermost in the female American mind. 
The title L> all in all. If America had been a 
woman, she would not have suffered the Prince 
of Wales to depart from her shores a single man. 

That the American law is not only blind to 
the veritable character of the institution of 
marriage, but that it even lends itself to offences 
against society, is shown by a crime committed 

160 [November 24, 1800.] 


[Conduct,*! by 

in New York in 1857. One Dr. Burdell lived 
in a house which was his own property, at a few 
paces' distance from a much-frequented street. 
He resided on the ground floor ; in the story 
above, there lodged a woman named Cunning- 
ham, with whom it was asserted that Burdell 
had been too intimate. She was visited by 
several persons, particularly by one Eckel, who 
was supposed to be BurdelTs successor in her 
affections. The woman had repeatedly and 
earnestly solicited the doctor to marry her; 
he had always refused. Nevertheless, as he 
was supposed to be worth, some twelve or six- 
teen thousand pounds, the woman Cunning- 
ham was accused of having planned his mur- 
der, after having taken previous steps to secure 
the inheritance. As the facts relating to the 
murder were never judicially proved, we can 
give no more than the substance of the in- 
dictment, according to which the woman Cun- 
ningham went one evening, in company with a 
man supposed to be Eckel, to the house of an 
obscure Protestant minister to whom they were 
quite unknown. The man wore a false beard 
the better to disguise himself; he stated his 
name to be Burdell, and the couple required 
to be united in marriage. The only witness was 
a young daughter of the woman Cunningham. 
The minister, without taking any trouble to 
ascertain the identity of the parties, married 
them in a few minutes, under the names declared 
to him. No registration of the marriage was 
made ; no signatures of the parties were given ; 
consequently, the only trace which remained of 
this culpable act was the certificate which the 
bride and the pretended bridegroom obtained 
from the complaisant minister. Not a syllable 
of all this was known in Dr. Burdell's house. 

Two or three months afterwards, New York 
was startled by the murder of Burdell in his 
room one evening in January. Cunningham 
and Eckel were arrested ; great inquiries were 
made, but nothing was discovered. The pri- 
soners were discharged. 

If matters had rested here, the crime would 
appear to have been committed without any 
adequate motive ; for the marriage would only 
have given the female culprit aright to a jointure, 
which was of comparatively trifling importance ; 
but the marriage was necessary, to support the 
assumption of a pregnancy which should supply 
a false heir to the unfortunate Burdell. But 
in consequence of measures skilfully taken, the 
attempted fraud was judicially proved. 

Suppose American marriages to have been 
environed by a portion only of the formalities 
and guarantees required in France only with 
those enacted in England and the murder would 
assuredly have been prevented. Let notice be 
published in the official locality belonging to the 
parish ; let the identity of the parties be ascer- 
tained ; let the celebration of the ceremony in 
broad day be authenticated by the presence of 
known witnesses of full age ; let the contract 
be registered in the local archives ; and the idea 
of such a crime as this could not enter the 
thoughts of the worst sharper. 

In spite of the extreme facilities for contract- 
ing marriage in the "United States, there never- 
theless exists a most characteristic prohibition. 
In divers States say in the majority the 
marriage of whites with Indians, negroes, and 
mulattoes, is prohibited, whatever may be the 
degree of fairness of the latter's skin. But even 
where the statute is silent nay, even where it 
is favourable to this sort of alliances the force 
of prejudice is so strong that nobody has the 
moral courage to brave it. Marriages of the 
kind do sometimes take place, but always 
among the lowest of the population ; and even 
then it is not always safe for the husband to re- 
main on the scene of the marriage ; for amongst 
the populace the prejudice of race is as deeply 
rooted as in the upper classes. It is curious that 
of late years more white women than white men 
have contracted marriage with persons of colour 
in two free States. But the circumstance itself is 
of such rare occurrence, that no conclusion can 
be drawn from these exceptional instances. 

And the matrimonial union of slaves what 
of that ? Considered either as a chattel or as a 
responsible being before God and before the 
law, it would seem that that thinking chattel 
ought to be authorised to contract a legitimate 
marriage, in order better to adapt his life to 
ideas of social and family duty, the two grand 
elements of civilisation. But it is no such 
thing ; no man of colour, in a state of slavery, 
has the right to contract a legal marriage, either 
with another slave or with a free person. The 
master lias always the right to break the con- 
nexion, how strong or slight soever it be, which 
the slave has formed, even with the master's 
consent ; and, as the law refuses to regulate 
such connexions, there is no recognised pa- 
ternity. The man and the woman, the father, 
the mother, and the children, may all be sepa- 
rated at the master's will. 

The law of divorce is not the same in all the 
States of the Union, but there is a great ten- 
dency to adopt similar reasons for granting 
divorces. Separation from bed and board, a 
mensa et thoro, finds little favour there. It is 
considered immoral, in consequence of its leav- 
ing, according to Lord Howell's expressions, a 
wife without a husband, and a husband without 
a wife. It is celibacy in matrimony. It offers 
great temptations to either party to go astray, 
and punishes the innocent more than the guilty. 
For divorce proper, there are divers reasons 
admitted by the legislatures of divers states. 
Among them are, voluntary desertion for one, 
two, three, or five years ; prolonged absence for 
five years ; idiocy or mental derangement ; mar- 
riage with a negro, an Indian, or a mulatto ; 
acts of cruelty or abuse committed by one of 
the couple on the other ; a great misapprehen- 
sion of duty towards the helpmate ; an habitual 
state of drunkenness, or the abuse of opium; 
imprisonment for crimes specified by the local 
statutes; a refusal to provide the wife with 
sufficient means of subsistence; a refusal on 
the part of the wife to follow her husband when 
he changes his residence ; disorders in the con- 

Ch.rlrt Dicker)..] 


[ November M, law.) 101 

duct of one of the couple ; the conversion of 
either to the sect of Shakers. One State, Ken- 
tucky, has gone so far as to pass a law, enacting 
that when a husband advertises in the journals 
ln's intention of not paying his wife's deots, she 
thereby acquires good and sufficient grounds for 
divorce. This last is a very near approach to 
Cicero's reasons for wishing to divorce Terentia 
not that she gave him any cause of complaint, 
but because he wanted a fresh dowry to pay his 
creditors. Longer experience will probably 
cause the Americans to make some radical 
changes in this branch of their civil code. 


LITTLE Willie had not appeared at my door 
for full a month ; I missed his cheerful whistle 
as he came, day by day, tugging up the rough 
road with the heavy bread-basket at bis back, 
and saw that he had been superseded by another 
boy, much smaller and of preternaturally grave 
countenance. I waylaid this boy one after- 
noon as he was toiling up the hill, aud in- 
quired what had become of Willie. He said he 
didn't know. Had he got a better place ? He 
didn't know. Was he gone to school? He 
didn't know. Was he poorly ? He didn't know. 
In fact, he knew nothing, so I gave him a half- 
penny for his information and let him struggle 
on, wondering how in the world he did it. 

Willie did not belong to my class at school, 
but his two big brothers did, and when I saw 
them the next Sunday, I renewed my inquiries 
for my merry little friend, and was told that he 
had got the fever the fever in our village 
meaning something generated of damp homes, 
bad drainage, insufficient water, and sometimes 
insufficient food. 

"He has had it, going on for a month," 
George told me. I asked if he had had it 
severely ? " He's been very bad in his head, and 
he don't know none of us but mother. But it's his 
ears now," was the rather mysterious answer. 

I always had a reluctance, difficult to over- 
come, to go anywhere where I am not certain 
to be welcome. If I were ill, 1 should feel 
inexpressibly annoyed to have strangers coming 
about me with pudding and tarts; and, what 
I do not like myself, I am chary of inflicting 
on other people. But I knew that our clergy- 
man and his wife, whose kitchen is kitchen for 
all the sick poor in the parish, were away; I 
reflected that a labouring man with six children, 
even though two of them are big enough to sup- 
port themselves, is not commonly provided with 
a surplus fund against rainy days ; so I screwed 
up my courage, told my old servant to make a 
regulation pudding and put it in a basket with a 
few other little matters applicable to the case, 
and set off the next morning to look after Willie. 

Down a step from the road, down a steep 
unpaved cart-way, past an immense mound of 
agricultural enrichment, down a sloppy foot- 
path between currant-bushes bearing innumerable 

small rags of clothing but no leaves, down a 
series of stepping-stones, and I am at the open 
door of Willie's home. Just inside are five 
small dots of children, four of them " playing at 
ladies," and the fifth, a curly-headed urchin of 
about three years old, enacting the part of 
audience at the comedy. One of the four, a 
blue-eyed maiden of six and a previous acquain- 
tance of mine, immediately detaches herself from 
the rest of the group, advances, drops a bob 
curtsey, and then turns sharply round to her com- 
panions and asks where are their manners ? 
manners are instantly made manifest by 
three more bob curtseys, but the curly head 
proves refractory, retires behind his largest 
little sister, and peeps at my basket round the 
corner of her elbow, while my blue-eyed damsel 
apologises for him as being " only little Robert" 
too young yet to have any manners. 

And we all stand and stare at each other, the 
children quite at home under the circumstances, 
myself feeling awkward that I have not a second 
basket to give up to plunder by these infantry, 
until I am recalled to myself by hearing blue 
eyes communicate my name and place of abode 
to her next neighbour, when I ask if they know 
where Willie's mother is? Immediately they 
all chorus forth, " Mother's gone out ironing at 
Mrs. Dent's." I then ask, "Where is Willie?" 
to which they simultaneously reply, " He's up 
there, in mother's bed;" and following the 
direction of their pointing fingers, I turn round 
and perceive an almost perpendicular step-ladder, 
the foot of which is directly opposite the door- 
way, and the head, without any circumlocution, 
in a' loft. In which loft, when I look up, I can 
see hanging, the identical best coat in which 
George has attended my class for two years past. 

" Will you go up and see him ?" asks blue eyes ; 
and the biggest girl, who may be of the mature 
age of seven, darts forward to pilot the way. 
But I am doubtful as to the step-ladder, and 
suggest the expediency of my seeing " mother" 
if she is to be got at; on which all the chil- 
dren, except Robert, execute manoeuvres across 
a flat of blighted cabbages, and disappear 
round a corner, while he and I improve our ac- 
quaintance by continuing to stare at each other. 
In a few minutes the quartette return as they 
went, followed by "mother," who stops ten yards 
off and makes a bob curtsey of the same pattern 
(I detest this curtseying, but I daren't say " Don't 
curtsey to me"), and then approaches, looking 
as if she were thankful to see me, though I 
never saw her in my life before. 

She is a pretty woman of not more than two 
or three and thirty, with beautiful eyes, delicate 
features, and dark hair ; all her clothing is clean 
and whole and decent ; and when Robert butts 
at her with his curly head, he is taken up, kissed, 
and cashiered with two of the girls who are his 
sisters into the house-place, while she gives me 
her account of Willie, standing in the doorway. 

" He ought to have been in his bed a fortnight 
before he was, the doctor says," she tells me. 

162 [November 24,1860.] 


[Conducted by 

" He is on the mend now, but very weak, and 
will I go up and see him ?" 

It is ray destiny to mount that step-ladder. So, 
up the step-ladder into a loft with a pallet-bed in 
it, and a thinly covered mattress in one corner on 
the floor ; through a doorway without a door, into 
a room about twelve feet square, in which, on 
" mother's bed," lies Willie or Willie's shadow. 

He is wide awake, and watching a casual 
gleam of sunshine that has found its way through 
the rainy clouds, and strayed in at the low lattice 
window ; but as I go up to liis pillow, he turns 
on me a pair of wonderful eyes, and says, faintly, 
"A little better." His mother explains that he 
fancies I asked him how he did. His hearing- 
is quite gone, and he cannot take in a word. I 
suggest that this arises from weakness, and will 
pass away as he gets his strength again. "You 
think it will, ma' am ?" she replies, and looks at 
him very wistfully ; on which, supposing himself 
addressed, Willie says again, " A little better," 
and, a minute after, " Drink, mother." 

She says she will go and warm him a drop of 
milk, and disappears, leaving us together. Willie 
turns his eyes slowly from the sunshine to my 
face, and from my face to the sunshine. I look at 
him and at the place where he lies, and meditate 
on the mysterious inequalities there are in the 
world, and on the hard lives of the working poor. 

The room is as pure as scrubbing and white- 
wash can make it ; everything about the bed is 
scrupulously clean ; the old chest of drawers is 
covered on the top with a white cloth ; as is also 
a rough deal box by the wall, which serves as a 
table, and on which stands the bottle of doctor's 
stuff, with a glass and spoon disposed ornament- 
ally in connexion with a copy of the British 
Workman, a farthing hymn-book, and a Bible. 
On the walls, fastened up with pins, are some 
rudely coloured scriptural prints, a few mis- 
sionary tract pictures, and, in one corner above 
the head of another mattress on the floor, the 
Lord's Prayer in large type. In the sunshine of 
the window are three plants, fresh and green ; 
and, though the room is low, it is not oppressively 
close, for there is a thorough current of air blow- 
ing up from the open door below. 

When his mother returns with the warm milk, 
he drinks it eagerly, and the pudding being ex- 
tracted from the basket, he eats a portion of that, 
with an enjoyment pleasant to watch. Having 
finished it, he stretches out his arm and looks up 
at his mother. 

" He wants you to see how thin his arm is, 
ma'am," she explains ; and rolling up his night- 
gown sleeve, she shows me a weak little white 
skeleton limb which will carry no more bread- 
baskets for many a month to come. 

She then sits down by his pillow, puts her arm 
round him, and makes him lean against her while 
she gives me the particulars of his illness ; how 
good he was, how little hope there was for 
him at one time, but how the doctor says no\v 
he will come round nicely if she can get him a 
little strengthening food. The clergyman, she 

says, being away, she did not know whom to 
apply to. " I didn't think of you, ma'am, till 
George told me you'd been asking about Willie ; 
I've spent many a sixpence for him, but I can't 
get what he likes; he takes eggs best, and he 
would eat three or four in a day, for he's get- 
ting hungry now, but he mustn't have them; 
I let him have one, but I pay three ha'pence 
apiece." On my inquiring what the doctor re- 
commends, she tells me a little broth or arrow- 
rootnothing stronger yet which I volunteer 
to send her. It then occurs to me to ask if the 
fever is infectious ? To which she says she be- 
lieves not if I don't stay there over long ; so, 
having fulfilled my present business, I think it 
will, perhaps, be expedient to go away; I 
therefore bid Willie good-by, with the foolish 
remark that I am sure he is grown, and that the 
fever will make a man of him, which, fortunately, 
he does not hear, and then I follow his mother 
into the outer loft, and down the step-ladder. 

Next day, my old servant, who is interested 
in Willie as the only boy whom she never 
had to tell to shut the garden-gate after him, 
makes a pitcher of excellent broth, and leaves 
the meat in it, and when submitting it to 
my taste for approval, she assures me that if 
Willie's mother has any management about her 
she will freshen it every day, and it will keep and 
fit him for a week : which intimation she also 
conveys to George when he comes for it at his 
dinner-time. But when I go down, long before 
the week's end, to see the little fellow again, his 
mother tells me it lasted him only two days, for 
what was left after that, turned sour. 

I achieve the step-ladder again. Willie is 
still in bed, and still as deaf as a stone, and I 
think he looks a shade duller and more pallid 
than before; but there is no sunshine through 
the window on the whitewashed wall to-day, and 
the drizzling rain slips mistily like a curtain over 
the glass. Still his mother says fondly, as she 
puts the scattered hair off his forehead, "He 
mends a little yes, ma'am, I'm sure he mends a 
little ;" and she adds, that the doctor says if he 
could have some jelly broth made of cow-heel or 
calf 's-foot, it would be better and more strength- 
ening than anything else. When I reply that 
I would order the butcher's wife to send her 
some feet, she hesitates a moment, and then 
says, " I can clean them and prepare them my- 
self, ma'am, if I get them just as they are ; you 
will have to pay a shilling for the set, but if you 
do not name it, Mrs. Briskett will do them, and 
they will cost half-a-crown." 

When I return home, I tell my servant the fate 
of her broth that was to last a week, iDn which 
she exclaims, " She has got no keeping place, I'll 
be bound ! but she needn't ha' let it waste ! And 
did she waste that good mutton too ? Why, it 
would ha' been a dinner for all of 'em. What 
sort of a house is it, missis?" I reply that I 
have only seen the place into which the outer 
door opens, which is a sort of scullery where the 
washing-tub and a few pans appear to live, and 



foranbertt, I860.] 163 

which had the bare ground for floor with a few 
large round pebbles in it; the family living-room 
I conjecture to be below the larger bedroom up 
the step-ladder. She replies that most likely 
that sen lien- is larder and pantry and all, but 
bids me inquire the next time I go, " for," adds 
' 1 can't abide waste, and if Willie's mother 
can't keep things as they should be kept, 
better hare 'em little by little every day as he 
wants 'em. 1 should like to see how she means 
to manage them calf's-fcet." 

A few days later, 1 visit Willie again, and, 
waiting at the open door, I look round and sup- 
pose my servant's conjecture about tliis scullery 
being also pantry to be correct, for, besides the 
pots and pans on the floor, there are a few basins 
: ml (li.Mirs on ;i shelf. Before my survey is com- 
pleted, Willie's mother appears from the dwell- 
iug-room, and to my satisfaction 1 hear that 
he is clown stairs for the first time, to-day. I 
am accordingly ushered across the scullery and 
into the kitchen, where he is sitting on a stool 
within a deep chintz valance, which haugs where 
a mantelpiece is commonly fixed ; for the cliirnney 
is a wide open space ; there is no range, no oven, 
no boiler, nothing but a handful of fire on the 
stones, kept from being scattered about by three 
bricks set one upon the other at each side, and 
about a foot apart. Fuel is very costly in our 
village, and the fire burns slowly; so Willie 
crouches down to it, looking much less comfort- 
able than when he lay in his mother's bed : while 
opposite to him, and dead asleep, sits his father, 
a powerful man in appearance, who, liis wile says 
softly, has only just got home after being out all 
night leading coals up from the landing to the 
store. Willie is no better of his deafness yet, 
but he is coming round. what a painful pro- 
cess that coming round looks over that starved 
scrap of fire ! 

The room has the same decided features of 
cleanliness under difficulties, of neatness, and 
attempt at ornament, as the room up the step- 
ladder. Ou a rude deal table, home-made, and by 
110 skilful carpenter, is the week's washing, 
ironed and folded, lu the wiudow-sill is the 
family library, consisting chiefly of old brown 
books, contents unknown, but outwardly of a 
religious appearance, with a few plants to give 
them aii air of liveliness. The floor is paved 
with woru uneven stones set in the clay, the walls 
are the uuplastered walls whitewashed, and as I 
look out from the window into the dull day 
which has but just ceased raining, I sec the 
sloppy footpath inclining down to it and all the 
water draining off to settle in this moist corner. 

1 don't like to ask prying questions, but I 
should like to know who owns this cottage and 
wlrit it costs the family a week. Whatever it 
costs in money, it will cost enormously more in 
health and strength, and possibly in children's 
lives, before its owner will consent to pull it 
down as unfit for human habitation which it is. 
But Willie's mother has no complaint to make 
if she siivs a word, it is of somebody's kindness 

so I suggest no grievance, but quietly convey 
myself away, leaving the father still fast asleep. 

I have got over the awkwardness of feeling 
myself an intruder, and a few days later I am 
that way again ; but the cabbage garden and the 
stones before the door are not decorated any 
more with the dots of children enacting ladies. 
The outer door stands open, but the inner one is 
shut, and, while I stand knocking, I hear a 
childish wail of suffering, than which I know no 
sound so sad : then the voice of our clergyman, 
who is home again, speaking to Willie's mother. 
As he comes out, I enter and see Willie, sitting 
on his stool under the valance as before, and a 
cradle on the stones beside him in which lies 
little Robert. Their mother's eyes are red with 
weeping or watching, or both, but in answer to 
my question if the little one is ill, she only says, 
in her natural way, which is neither patient nor 
plaintive, but simply acquiescent in what is, as if 
she had no idea it either could be or ought to be 
otherwise, " Yes, ma'am, he's got the fever too ; he 
began three days ago." And as the pitiful inarti- 
culate wail continues, she lifts him in her arms 
and holds his curly head against her neck, and 
kisses him until it ceases ; but he is very bad in 
his head, and the great eyes have a very different 
expression from what they had when he peeped j 
round his sister's elbow at my basket. 

" I don't get much rest with him at nights," 
his mother tells me, and puts a chair for me to 
sit down, and sits down herself, nursing him in 
her lap, where he lies quiet enough. Then she 
tells me about him, and what the doctor says. 
" And don't I see Willie getting on ?" He has been 
out a minute or two in the sun, but he could not 
stand by himself, and his boots are too heavy for his 
little thin feet. So I suggest a superannuated pair 
of my own, which she says she will be very glad 
of ; and she defers to me and consults me, and I 
know nothing, and feel that I am nothing, beside 
her, except that all my speculations and stories 
of struggle and suffering are mere shreds and 
patches of phantoms compared with her bare 
and bitter experience of life. 

The two little girls are silently busy at the 
table, ironing. I inquire of them if they often 
burn their fingers, an idea which they repudiate 
with emphatic head-shakings. " It is their doll's 
clothes, ma'am ; it keeps them quiet and makes 
them handy," their mother tells me ; on which 
they smile, and display some wonderful bits of 
rag, the property of a much-abused but probably 
much-cherished wooden image now sitting un- 
clothed on the centre pile of books in the win- 
dow-sill. The fire is a little brighter to-day per- 
haps the clergyman brightened it and Willie 
has not quite such a wan and weary look on. his 
white face. lie watches his mother and myself 
as we talk, which he never did before, and 
though he cannot hear a word, he can raise his 
mind, apparently, to guess about what is going 
on ; and to look on the best side of everything, 
perhaps his deafness may be almost a blessing for 
a little while, for it will prevent him from being 

[November 24, I860.] 


[Conducted by 

further worn by poor curly-headed Robert's 
pitiful wail. 

This is not poverty under its worst aspect ; it 
is very very far from that. There is no drunken 
husband or lazy wife to waste the earnings of la- 
bour ; there is industry, thrift, cleanliness : a 
successful struggle to be good, honest, pious, de- 
cent, orderly, under very hard conditions. There 
is no special want ; there are regular wages, and 
not bad wages ; there is the father toiling night or 
day ; there are two boys at constant work, and a 
good mother, able and willing to make them a 
good home ; yet all the possibilities of health, 
and natural growth, and every-day comfort, are 
defeated in a dwelling which the most scrupulous 
care can never render what a dwelling of human 
beings ought to be. 

Instead of sun-bonnets for Central Africa, 
could any fund be raised to enable penurious or 
indigent landlords to put kitchen ranges in the 
kitchens of their labouring tenants, and to bribe 
them to pull down their pest-houses, and erect 
dwellings in which fever will not always be at 
war with youth and strength, and always getting 
the victory? 


THERE they lie, like buried leaves, or dead 
twigs without buds or roots; things which 
have had their uses and their hour, but which 
have gone down now to eternal forgetfulness. 
Who thinks of them ? Who knows even the 
names of Dorat, of Cubieres, of Olympe de 
Gouges, of le Cousin Jacques, of De la Morliere, 
of Grimod de la Reyniere ? Who takes note of 
the fret and fever of their lives, or marks the 
spot where their feet slipped, or where they 
grasped firmer hold of the great ladder of their 
fortunes ? Yet they were personages in their 
day ; they represented certain forms of popular 
life, and the thoughts that then governed so- 
ciety ; they